


we don't mind ('cause maybe someday they're gonna love us back to life)

by janie_tangerine



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Crack Treated Seriously, F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Fluff and Crack, Idiots in Love, Love at First Sight, M/M, Multi, POV Outsider, Poor Life Choices, Weddings, too many jeynes for my peace of mind
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-22
Updated: 2016-03-31
Packaged: 2018-05-28 11:27:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 21,789
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6327139
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/janie_tangerine/pseuds/janie_tangerine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>“Wow,” he mutters, “</i>this<i> is some drink.”</i></p><p>
  <i>“Isn’t it just? Too bad it won’t get served at your sister’s wedding.”</i>
</p><p><i>At </i>that<i>, Jaime puts down the glass. “Wait, </i>you<i>’re going, too?"</i></p><p>In which Jaime and Theon pretend that they're dating so that they can get through Cersei and Robert's wedding making their respective fathers angry instead of being miserable.</p><p>Too bad that they end up at the same table with two people they would want to date for real.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ElectricAlice](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElectricAlice/gifts).



> OKAY SO, I'm posting this in chapters for reasons (mostly: I have work tomorrow and I can't edit the entire thing properly but I was done with the first part so I figured I could put it up now - also other reasons but never mind) and sorry for the inconvenience and for the lack of actual shenanigans in this chapter - the meaty part is being put on tomorrow evening at latest.
> 
> Anyway idek how me and tumblr user electricalice came up with this complete crack on a stick last night but I really had to put it in the open. I mean, you imagine those two fake dating and running into their respective cinnamon rolls and being unable to hit on them because they're actually pretending to be together? Yeah, I couldn't resist either. This is just the set-up, stay tuned tomorrow for the actual wedding crack. The title is from Brian Fallon ( ~~let's just straight-up admit that this guy is my basic titlesaver whichever band he's in okay~~ ), nothing belongs to me really except part of the crack and okay see you all tomorrow for the actual wedding part of this. *saunters downwards*

Jaime is _not_ having a good day when he walks inside Seaworth’s – and no, it’s not just because he had a fairly horrid argument with his dad about _not_ wanting to sit at the family table during the wedding.

It’s also that then he had one with Cersei, who thought that he might change his mind if she called – yeah, as if –, there were some five paparazzi under his apartment (haven’t the vultures gotten tired? The trial was over _months_ ago, damn it), he didn’t catch more than three hours of rest in total last night and he just all-around feels like he could go to sleep for two months straight.

Actually, he _would_ if he could, except that it’d mean missing Cersei’s bloody fucking wedding and be it her or his father, someone will force him to show up.

The only upside is that he’s certainly never going to find anyone from their circle at his pub of choice – the fact that it’s run by a former miner who still has a Labour party subscription and who was arrested thrice during the eighties is enough to make it low-class enough that no one related to him would be caught dead drinking in there. Their loss, since the drinks are great, if you’re not looking for high class (and Jaime isn’t), and other than being just around the corner from Jaime’s place, it’s also not too large and not too crowded – it’s a Tuesday evening, so not the week-end, but still, there’s absolutely no downside in choosing it as the place he’s going to get wasted at tonight.

He walks in, waves at Seaworth – who’s manning the register – and goes to grab one of the empty stools in front of the bar.

“Looks like even the mighty have bad days, don’t they?”

Jaime rolls his eyes openly and looks up at the bartender.

“And good evening to you, too, Greyjoy. What suggested you that it might be the case?”

“Anyone with some sense would see it, you radiate misery. Then again, I get the feeling. What’s your poison?”

See, there’s a reason why Jaime always thought Theon Greyjoy was one of the two people in his family with half a lick of sense – never mind that he’s not a bore to be around, but he doesn’t ask questions that no one wants to answer and he can make some mean cocktails, on top of always knowing which strong drink might agree with your different kinds of miserable mood. Jaime is fairly sure that his father doesn’t approve of the man bartending so he can put himself through fashion school part-time, but then again Balon Greyjoy probably assumed he’d work for the family company like his two brothers and his sister, and good thing Asha does or the entire business would have collapsed the moment their father had to leave them in charge because of fairly bad car accident that almost killed him a couple of years ago. Also, Jaime’s seen his fair share of Balon Greyjoy around since he’s business partners with _his_ own father, and from what he knows he certainly doesn’t approve of any of his offspring going to _fashion school_ of everything.

“I’m going to let you choose. As long as it’s strong and it gets me drunk quickly.”

“Your funeral,” Theon tells him with a shrug, and a minute or so later he has a glass in front of him.

“That’s the strongest tequila in the shop. With three refills you should be good to go, but I’d drink it slowly if you don’t want to puke your guts out on the floor. Which I have to clean, so I’d appreciate it if you fucking didn’t.”

“Understood. Don’t worry, I won’t make your life harder,” Jaime says, and takes a sip. Well, damn, the thing is indeed strong. “Wow,” he mutters, “ _this_ is some drink.”

“Isn’t it just? Too bad it won’t get served at your sister’s wedding.”

At _that_ , Jaime puts down the glass. “Wait, _you_ ’re going, too?”

Theon shrugs. “Well, not that anyone invited me, but of course my illustrious father received an invitation and someone from the family has to go. He can’t because he’s still bed-bound, and that’s just his bloody fault for not listening to the nurse – he thinks that if he pays her triple and doesn’t do physical therapy properly he’s going to get up without needing to put effort. Whatever, his fucking funeral. My sister’s out of town for the next two months because someone presentable has to talk with the foreign partners, my brothers aren’t an option after what they did at my uncle Rodrik’s wedding –

“Wait, what did they do?” Jaime asks before drinking some more. Damn, that shit is really strong.

“They drank some. Let’s say that it’s a good thing my dad has a lot of money or they’d still be paying back the damages to the hotel it was in.”

“Seriously?”

“Yeah, well, my dad can’t risk sending those two assholes at _your_ sister’s wedding. My uncles – I mean, have you _seen_ them?”

Jaime shudders – Aeron is some kind of nutjob preacher who would be a complete mood killer at any mundane conversation, Victarion has a tendency to punch you in the mouth if he disagrees with you and he’s drank enough and Euron is just a complete psychopath, good thing that he channeled that into making sure the family business would prosper by threatening suppliers.

“I did,” he finally agrees.

“Well, then who else was left? I said I’d go just because my father had to beg me and that felt fairly nice, all things considered, especially since he finally got in touch after three years, but don’t think I’m looking forward to it. I mean, I don’t know anyone else, I was the only idiot in the family who wasn’t in the business and with my luck I’ll get stuck at a table with some assholes who certainly don’t have to bartend to make ends meet and pay for their goddamned education. I could do with some tequila.”

Jaime nods, finishing the glass and holding it over for a refill – Theon grabs the bottle and pours, and that is when Jaime has _the_ idea.

At the moment, it seems fairly great. Actually, it seems like the best fucking idea he could ever have. Because, after all, he is looking for an excuse to sit at another table, isn’t he, while Theon isn’t too happy about being on his own in that nest of vipers, not that Jaime doesn’t understand the feeling. Never mind that while Jaime’s definitely into women, Theon Greyjoy is certainly not hard on the eyes, so to speak, and they get along decently enough – if he agrees, they might just have the time of their life instead of hating every moment of it.

“I think,” Jaime says, “that I have a solution to both our predicaments. If you’re amenable.”

“Well, shoot,” Theon shrugs and puts the bottle away. “It’s not as if you’re not the only client. I have time.”

“Is your invitation for two?”

“I guess, it says plus one, but do you think I can ask any of the people I casually hook up with to come with me? No way.”

“My invitation also says the same. Also, I don’t want to go to this bloody wedding, and if I really have to then I don’t fucking want to sit with my father or my sister.”

“Okay. And?”

“Well, there’s just one way I can avoid that. Which is, if I go with a date my dad would _not_ approve of.”

Theon’s dark eyes go slightly wider the moment he understands the implications, this while Jaime sips on his second refill.

“Wait. You want _me_ to go as your date?”

“Hell, why not? I mean, I come here some three or four times each week and we’ve seen each other around the company offices enough back in the day. Sure, I have some seven years on you but I don’t think that’s going to be the problem. If _you_ are my date, my illustrious father sure as hell won’t have you at his table, no offense –”

“None taken – _mine_ hates me, I doubt yours would appreciate my charming personality when he doesn’t even like _you_.”

Jaime tries not to laugh lest he’d spit the tequila, and it’d be a waste. “Well then, just imagine that. I get to sit somewhere that’s not with my close relatives, you go with someone you at least talk to, I get to royally piss off my dad – because if he knew I was _dating_ you he’d about go insane just thinking about it – and you’d probably get to laugh in yours’ face. I mean, I’m willing to pretend for a bit if it makes him seethe. Never mind that my sister would also have a field day telling me that I’m dating beneath my possibilities, and whatever makes her angry makes me happy these days.” Sure as hell it does, especially considering what happened after he came back home after losing his right hand on a landmine and how supportive she was – or well, maybe he should say _considering how she didn’t even try to be supportive and told me I shouldn’t have risked my life and waste precious family money because I didn’t let my completely insane CO blow up our entire unit for absolutely nothing_. The moment he starts feeling like a functioning human being again, he’s definitely going to spend a lot of time trying to dissuade people from enlisting, especially if they think they’re doing it for a morally good reason.

But that’s not the damned point and he’s not going to think about that lest he spends another night sleepless again.

Theon seems to consider that for a moment. “Shit, if I told him I was _dating_ you he’d completely lose it. He keeps on saying I won’t amount to a thing in life for that matter, if he _knew_ – fuck, you know what, that’s a brilliant idea. Let’s do that. On top of everything, you’re hardly a penance to look at.”

“Why, thank you. Likewise, even if you’re not really my type. I mean, guys don’t do it for me, but with a face like yours I sure as hell I can pretend.”

Theon lets out a half-laugh and shrugs before grabbing a clean glass and filling with beer. “Can’t get drunk on the job,” he explains, “but we should totally cheer to it. To pissing our fathers off, Lannister. And too bad for you if you can’t catch fish on both sides of the pond, but I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“Amen,” Jaime answers, their glasses clinking against each other, and he downs the last of the tequila in one drink.

It’s damn good tequila, but to be honest the more he thinks about how his father is going to take it, the more he decides that maybe he doesn’t need the third refill.

 

TBC


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ... sorry guys, I thought I could wrap this in two parts and I couldn't. But the good news is that I know where I'm going with this so I'm gonna finish it in a day or two at most, bear with me here. XDDD anyway hey at least something happens here. Sorry for the slight cliffhanger is2g I'll solve it very soon. /o\

All things considered, Theon decides, until now it’s gone swimmingly well. Which is a lot more than he could say, given what he had thought he’d have to go through when he accepted to go to the damned wedding.

For that matter, he put some effort in this entire farce – he even caught two pigeons with one stone and made suits for both him and bloody Jaime Lannister since he had to design some for a uni workshop. Jaime laughed his ass off and said that they should make it clear who designed them, and Theon had figured it would just make the whole show more believable. Also, not to brag but he made two kickass suits – the shade of green he chose looks damn good on Lannister and he _can_ appreciate a good looking guy, so he’d know. He’s picked a classic charcoal for himself but he also knows what looks good on him, and it fits him like a glove, so at least on that front no one could have accused him of not taking this entire matter seriously.

That said, the ceremony itself was pretty much in the top ten insufferable hours of his life, never mind that he’s never been at a wedding between two people who glared at each other _that_ much – okay, everyone knows it’s for business reasons, but they weren’t even trying to pretend they liked each other. For fuck’s sake, Theon’s gone to weddings of people he’s related to, which meant he’s never once went to one where the bride and groom actually liked each other, and still this one managed to beat all of them.

Of course every Lannister around except for Tyrion (who Theon figures must have been clued in by his brother, considering the looks he has been sending them for now) and that aunt whose name he completely forgot has been shooting him and Jaime dirty looks, but to be honest that has been a complete riot – especially since the more they were stared at the more they just went for the longest, most embarrass-inducing kissing they could think of. At some point they did almost french each other in the aisle when Cersei was being late, and _that_ had made Tywin pretty much fume with rage from his own seat, and that was fucking amazing. Never mind that Jaime might not be the nicest person in existence but damn if he can kiss, and Theon’s certainly not complaining about that if he gets that kind of making out it as a bonus, especially considering that in between school and taking extra shifts lately he has barely had time to get laid in the first place.

Also, just thinking about his dad’s face when he went to see him personally just to deliver the news would have been enough to get him through five weddings like this. 

So, for now it all has gone splendidly – if they manage to not start laughing the next time Jaime tries to call him darling they have this covered. Now he just hopes their table is at least somewhat decent. He’s not too sure of that, considering that the both of them have been searching for their names for a couple of minutes in the indecently long list outside the entrance to the first floor of the five that host the reception, at some Lannister-owned five star hotel in a zone of London where Theon couldn’t afford to buy coffee on a normal day, the elder Lannister must _really_ have been angry. Or they wouldn’t have been at the bottom of the list.

Fuck’s sake, there are _three hundred_ tables in this goddamned place – Jaime checked from one to one hundred and Theon is finishing checking from one hundred to two, and they’re definitely not on the first two floors.

“Well, your dad is angry if we’re in the last hundred,” Theon asks as he moves on to the next panel – Christ, not that he’s ever getting married, considering his luck with relationships and his physical inability to not fuck up each single one he ever was in that was more than a hook-up, but if it somehow happens it’s going to be at most fifteen guests.

“Good,” Jaime answers, looking fairly smug, “it means that we’re with the people he dislikes more, which also means that they’ll be fairly better company than anyone in the first hundred tables anyway.”

“Point taken,” Theon concedes, and then – “Wait, we’re here. Table two hundred and nineteen? Well, I don’t know anyone else in it.”

“Let me see,” Jaime says, moving closer and putting an arm around his shoulder – right, they’re in plain sight. Theon puts an arm around Jaime’s waist, figuring he’ll keep up the act. “So, Oberyn Martell – well, _good_ , we lucked out, he’s an important partner but he hates doing business with my father and the sentiment is reciprocated. And he doesn’t have a stick up his ass, thank fuck. Ygritte Giantsbane – right, must be the new iron supplier’s niece, I don’t know her but the guy was fairly nice the two times I’ve seen him, nothing to worry about if she’s like him.”

“Okay, so two bullets on six are dodged, what about the other four?”

“Samwell Tarly – wait, who is – ah, _right_ , Randyll Tarly’s kid. We’re good.”

“Wait, wasn’t Tarly that absolute dick who was like your dad’s vice-president at some point?”

“Yeah, but that’s his first son – he’s basically all the contrary of his dad. If he’s here he’s probably hating it as much as us. Good lord, I remember he used to come into his dad’s office with a stack of books and Randyll would just look down at him and glare and tell him he should go to the office’s gym instead, what a fucking dick. We’re good. So, Sam Tarly, who else, Jeyne Westerling – fuck, that’s a really dodged bullet.”

“What?”

“Her family’s a long-lasting supplier, and her mother is a complete viper. Her dad is completely irrelevant – no clue why she’s not with them but she’s a nice kid as well. And right, the last two – Brienne Tarth? Who the hell – ah, right. Must be related to that partner of Robert’s?”

“Christ, how do you remember this shit?”

“What can I do, I lived with them for years, you learn to. Anyway, I just remember Robert’s in business with someone named Tarth, beats me for what. And – oh, well, this one’s fucking hilarious.”

“What, Robb Stark? Who’s –”

“The first son of Robert’s best friend. Who _hates_ my father. And it’s fairly reciprocated. They tolerate each other just because of business politics, and I’m fairly sure that Ned has to be at the main table or close to it, but if his son’s with us then my father and Cersei really wanted to be assholes. Ah well, if he’s anywhere like his father, we’re good.”

“So you’re telling me that we scored a decent table?”

“Looks like it. Come on, let’s just go sit, this is going to be long.”

“Sure it will be. _Five fucking floors_. Unbelievable,” Theon mutters before following Jaime inside.

He tries to not look at the number of forks he sees on the tables he passes by – except that he notices that it’s six of them and fuck’s sake, who needs six forks for eating – and they reach table 219 after just one floor – well, at least they aren’t on the bottom, are they.

Also, table 219 is already almost full – there are just four free places, all next to each other. Jaime’s hand slips into his and he moves forward – Theon’s going to let him for sure, at least he can do the introductions.

“But what am I seeing. What did you do to end up on the second to last floor with us black sheep?”

“Hilarious, Oberyn, _hilarious_. Well, according to my illustrious father I’m _dating beneath my name_ ,” Jaime says, moving and revealing a man in his late thirties, a bit taller than Theon though not overtly so, with dark-ish skin, a neatly trimmed beard, some seriously luscious black hair and a pair of dark eyes that has certainly slain hundreds of people with some basic aesthetic taste.

“Not that his father’s not right,” Theon says, “but hey, it’s the twenty-first century, right? Theon Greyjoy, nice to meet you.”

“If Tywin dislikes someone, you’re already on my good list. Oberyn Martell, likewise.” The man gives him a firm handshake before moving back to his seat. A moment later, the person sitting next to him stands up – and damn it but she’s hot, Theon has to think when he takes a good look at her. A mass of curly red hair, blue eyes, a few freckles covering her cheeks, and she looks fairly stunning in the dark red dress she’s wearing.

“Lannister,” she says, moving towards them with a few, sure strides. “I don’t think we’ve had the pleasure yet. I’m Ygritte, my uncle decided that I was the person in the family that would do the least damage showing up here.”

She holds out her hand and Jaime takes it. “Well, your uncle looked like a smart guy the two times I met him. Nice to meet you.”

Theon shakes her hand as well and then Jaime introduces him to both Jeyne Westerling and Samwell Tarly, who insists on please call me Sam, there’s really no need to be that formal, and the both of them do look fairly nice. Or at least, Jeyne is perfectly nice and she’s also kind of pretty – not stunning, mind you, or hot, but she definitely cuts a cute figure with her mahogany dress and her brown hair carefully styled in soft waves. Sam is _definitely_ what doesn’t look like a grade A asshole like his dad – he shakes Theon’s hand with both of his, he’s wearing a very nicely styled suit which is also very well-worn and entirely not pretentious, and he actually _remembers_ Balon, to Theon’s consternation.

“I think I was in my father’s office when he came one day for a meeting or something of the kind,” Sam says as he sits back down – Theon and Jaime take the two middle seats of the four free. “I don’t want to offend you or anything but –”

“Let me guess, he was a patented dick to you if he noticed you and to anyone else that wasn’t your dad, or am I wrong?”

“Er, you aren’t? Sorry, I didn’t mean –”

“We haven’t talked in ages, don’t you worry. No offense taken whatsoever.”

“Well, he does talk to you _now_ though, doesn’t he?” Jaime asks, and the entire sentence sounds like a fucking innuendo – the man has talent, Theon decides.

“Of course he does now,” Theon agrees, “but it’s not as if I take his calls. I mean, it’s not like I’m dating you just to get back at him.”

“Isn’t that just adorable,” Oberyn remarks, and then –

“I’m so sorry,” a voice says from behind them. A very nice male voice, for that matter – light Irish accent isn’t it? “We should have been here ten minutes ago but the traffic outside the hotel is insane and we both left the church too late.”

Theon and Jaime both turn their seats and –

Theon barely takes in the giant of a woman standing next to the guy in question, because _fuck it but the guy is indeed something_. Same height as Theon is, pretty much, red curly hair just the perfect length, a nicely trimmed short beard, a pair of huge blue eyes that puts Ygritte’s to shame, a very dark burgundy suit that entirely suits him, and his face looks out of a goddamned Greek sculpture. If Ygritte was hot, this guy is scorching. And he’s supposed to be Robb Stark, most probably?

Great. As if Theon, as it is, even if he wasn’t pretending to date Jaime Lannister, would have half of a chance of successfully hitting on a guy whose family is on gossip magazines every other week just because his dad has an extremely rich and successful company, not that Theon reads them or he’d have not been pretty much trying not to ogle at him right now. Not that his own family isn’t well-off, but he hasn’t been a part of that for years, so – he’s definitely beneath Robb’s name for damn sure.

Fuck his life, really.

“Robb, how many times did I ever tell you that you need to stop apologizing for everything when we were dating?”

_When we were dating_? Who was that? Theon turns and looks at Jeyne standing up and moving to the other side of the table – she and _Robb_ , embrace loosely the way a couple old friends would.

“Yeah, well, you know I’m stubborn. Also did Lannister put us in the same table because he thought we hated each other or what? Because if that was the reason, he’s way less observant than I thought.”

“Wait,” Jaime says, “you two _dated_?”

“A few years ago,” Jeyne agrees. “But then we realized we were better off as friends. Which I don’t think your father understood, or he wouldn’t have put us together, would he?”

“Indeed. Anyway, sorry everyone, I’m Robb. Robb Stark, nice to meet you?”

And then Theon realizes that he was the closest person and Robb is extending a hand over to _him_.

“Oh. Sorry, yeah, nice to meet you too. Theon Greyjoy, I’m –”

“He’s my date,” Jaime says, coming to his rescue. “Jaime Lannister. And you would be Brienne, I presume?”

Ah, right, the giant of a woman next to Robb. Theon had barely noticed her, but now that he does – Christ, Jaime is some one meter and close-to-ninety but she has some two centimeters on him, he thinks. And – she’s definitely _something_. The thing is, she’s nowhere near pretty – her nose has been broken at least twice if not thrice, she’s not wearing make-up, the pink dress she’s wearing fits her terribly considering that it wasn’t cut for a woman with shoulders that large and a bosom that small in comparison, the spatter of freckles on her cheeks isn’t really cute like Ygritte’s and her lips are maybe a bit too full. Also, her straw-blonde hair is falling on her shoulders straight, without any styling at all, and she looks absolutely uncomfortable in her whole get-up. But at the same time, she does have a pair really beautiful blue eyes, with long eyelashes to boot and a fairly amazing shade – okay, not as lovely as Robb’s, but she still does have very nice eyes, and _wait where did that thought even come from_? – and she’s… all muscle. What he can see of her legs and chest under the dress – it’s kind of tight, not a good choice for that build – is pure muscle, and she looks damn ripped for that matter. She certainly keeps herself in shape. And Jaime is staring at her with a certain fascination.

“Brienne Tarth, yes,” she replies, and right, fine, she also has a very nice voice. “I might have forgotten where I parked my car next to the church, or maybe there were too many – we were late also because he noticed me and gave me a ride. Really, thanks again, if you hadn’t done it –”

“Seriously, it was nothing,” Robb replies, smiling a bit, and fuck but he has a real nice smile. They introduce each other to the rest of the table – neither of them knew anyone else except for Robb and Jeyne, Theon figures, and then they have to pick their seats.

For a moment Theon hopes Robb goes sitting next to Jaime, because he always was bad at not flirting with people he liked, and –

_Of course_ , of course Robb sits next to him and Jeyne. Obviously. He knows her, after all.

Brienne goes next to Jaime, Theon forces himself to not lean towards Robb, who is also most probably straight and therefore not someone he should think about hitting on, and he really hopes someone else will speak up if only to break the silence –

“Well,” Ygritte says, “I don’t see any appetizers yet and we’re most probably going to be here until dawn, so I guess we might introduce each other properly and all that jazz. How about we ask each other some questions, just to break the ice? For example, where did Lannister get that suit? Because if you had it made I want your tailor’s address.”

Jaime smiles a practiced, smooth smile and nods towards Theon. “You can ask my _boyfriend_ here.”

“What, you made that?” Robb asks, looking – impressed?

“Er, yeah,” Theon says, forcing himself to also look at the others around the table. “I, uh, I go to fashion school. I also made mine.”

“And you say that like it’s something you should be ashamed of?” Ygritte asks. “I’ll have your number before the evening is over, hotshot. I think I want a dress like that.”

“Well, sure. I mean, whenever you’d like,” Theon says, suddenly not wanting to be the center of attention.”

“That’s amazing, though,” Robb says, sounding impressed all over again. “I mean, I can barely attach buttons to my shirts when they fall off. I wish I could design my clothes, at least they’d be more comfortable than this trap,” he says, glaring at his sensible black suit.

“Don’t you tell me,” Brienne echoes.

“Well, I’m sure he’d be more than amenable to make you a dress that fits your shoulders somewhat better,” Jaime says, and well, okay, Theon knows the guy’s an asshole, but fuck’s sake, that really wasn’t called for –

“Pity that _I don’t wear dresses_ ,” Brienne calmly says back, staring at Jaime straight in the eyes, looking entirely not impressed. “I don’t need one. And I don’t need your input.”

“Woah, easy, I didn’t mean anything by that.”

Theon sighs. “Really, he’s an asshole but he’s mostly not a mean one,” he says, figuring that he should somewhat stick up for his _boyfriend,_ what a riot.

“Good to know, but I still can do without dresses. Or weddings. To think I missed a game for this,” she mutters.

“You missed a game? Of what?” Sam asks, sounding interested.

Brienne sighs, putting her hands on the table – well, yeah, she definitely has hands that look like a guy’s. Large, long but thick fingers, and a lot of callouses on them for that matter. Also her nails are all half-broken.

“My father was supposed to come, but he wasn’t feeling too well and he asked me to. I didn’t really want to since I’m not in his field at all and I don’t know anyone, and the one time he brought me to a company party – let’s say it wasn’t a good idea. Anyway, I play hockey – I mean, professionally. It’s a team in Division II, we’re doing fairly good this year and I had a game in Cardiff this week-end, but I had to sit it out to come here and – never mind, no one is interested in –”

“Actually, I think a question needs to be asked before anything else happens in this table,” Jaime interrupts her.

“Really, Lannister. _What_ ,” she says dryly, sounding not impressed with him at all.

“What team do you root for?”

She still doesn’t look much impressed as she answers him. “The Flyers, of course.”

Theon doesn’t know much about hockey except that it’s the oldest team still around, or so he assumes, but then he feels Jaime tense ever so slightly.

“Huh,” he says, slowly, “guess what, you _did_ get that more right than your choice of color for that dress. Great, I won’t have to think about subtle ways to ruin your evening – that was the correct answer.” He winks at her, Christ, and then someone brings them wine and Theon is really, really grateful for the interruption.

“Well, you might be an ass, but at least your taste in hockey teams is exemplary,” Brienne agrees before taking a sip of wine. Theon just shrugs and does the same to his.

“Er, what’s that about?” Robb asks him a moment later.

“Beats me,” Theon says, “I have no clue. When _he_ watches games I usually work on – uni stuff, pretty much,” he says, hoping that the lie sounds as smooth as it should.

“Well, at least it’s two of us – I don’t know anything about that, though my brother’s fairly into it. And I still haven’t grasped half of the rules.”

“Me neither,” Theon replies, feeling somewhat relieved. “But hey, it’s a good thing, at least I have time for said uni work. I mean, considering that I also have hours – ah, shit, sorry, that wasn’t –”

“You have hours what?”

“Er, let’s say that my father doesn’t support my life choices, so I’m paying for that myself. But with working and everything, I go part-time. Anyway, it’s not really anything much, I tend bar, but –”

“Hey, there’s nothing inherently shameful in supporting yourself to do what you like. Actually, it’s admirable,” Robb says, and damn it but _he sounds as if he completely means it_ and –

“Robb, you really should tell your dad that you don’t care about the family business and stop being a hypocrite. I mean, it was fine when it came to supporting me when I told my mom she could forget it if she thought I would marry that third cousin of _his boyfriend_ just so that she’d have grandchildren named Lannister, but informing your most probably very supportive parents that you just want to get that history PhD instead of running a company is too complicated?”

Robb’s cheeks go red under his beard and Theon thinks he’s a goddamned goner – can this guy just stop being a menace just by _reacting_ to things, fuck’s sake?

“Fine, fine, I’m not a coherent person. But I swear I’m going to do that soon, okay?”

“Yeah, I’ll believe that when I see it,” she proclaims. “But anyway, he means it when he says he admires you,” she says, before winking at him and taking a sip from her wine glass, too.

“But really,” Oberyn suddenly asks before any of the conversations they had going on can proceed, “now I’m interested. I was wondering, how did you two actually get together? Because I’m sure it must have been an interesting story.”

Well, if they had indeed gotten together it definitely might have been, Theon thinks, and –

That’s when he realizes that _they actually hadn’t agreed on a story before going through with this_.

He turns to look at Jaime and for a moment they share a look that could have meant anything – Jaime didn’t look panicked, but as if he was trying to tell him _just go along with whatever I say_ , and then he’s turning back towards the rest of the table, his lips curling up into a smirk.

And if Theon knows the man somewhat decently (and if you serve someone drinks for six months straight you _would_ ), that smirk is not good news at all.

He tries to get ready for whatever it is that Lannister says and just hopes that it’s nothing that might end up with him not being able to look at Robb in the eyes for the next fifteen hours or so that they’re stuck here, because if that’s the case –

No. He’s just going to stick with the best case scenario and he won’t let himself panic and he’ll get through this like a pro. He can do this.

Can he? 

 

TBC


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry guys easter vacations happened but you have two other parts now. hopefully I can wrap this up in another installment or two at most XDDDDD

Damn, they should have come up with a damned story, shouldn’t they? Jaime clears his throat and just hopes that Theon got the memo before, or this fake dating won’t last long.

“Well,” he starts, slow, figuring that it can’t be that hard to come up with something that might sound even remotely plausible, “we already sort of knew each other before I shipped off, you know. His dad’s been around the company since forever.”

“Sadly for me,” Theon interjects. “I mean, not that I ever went with him often because he thought I’d be useless at _learning the trade_ and he wasn’t that wrong about it but yes, we sort of did.”

“Then I shipped off and I guess everyone reads the newspapers, so, suffices to know that after I moved out and got myself a flat I’d find myself also a place to get wasted if I so wished.”

“Which happened to be the bar I work at,” Theon slides in, and damn but Jaime could kiss him if only because he’s not losing a beat here.

“Hey, it’s a good bar. Also you make mean cocktails, a man can resist just so much.”

“Aw, so you ended up seducing him with alcohol-mixing skills? Now that sounds like a riot,” Ygritte says, sounding entirely approving of that, and Jaime hopes no one noticed that for a second Theon looked like he’d rather disappear underground forever. Of course he would – considering how he has been looking at Robb Stark since the moment he showed up, he probably doesn’t want to be known as the guy who seduces people with alcohol-mixing skills.

“Well, I wasn’t _trying_ ,” Theon says, obviously trying to salvage the situation. “I mean, I was doing my job, for that matter he didn’t look like he was up for dating back in the day.”

Which is also fairly true. Especially since he still went to physical therapy to try and get used to the prosthesis the military issued him, and it all turned out so well that he never wears the damned thing if he can avoid it. He is now, but not wearing it would really have been pushing it too much – he just hopes that he can manage to at least cut meat without anyone sending sorry looks his way when it’s time. Hopefully, by then they will all be drunk enough that no one will care about his issues with cutlery.

“I wasn’t. But hey, don’t sell yourself short. I mean, other than making a mean cocktail you do have a way to make people feel like their misery is validated.”

“ _Dear_ , I’m absolutely moved,” Theon quips dryly.

“Yeah, fine, but that’s not how you got together. We want the meat of this story.”

Jaime decides that he would like Ygritte, in general, but he wishes she wasn’t this much into finding out how they got together, because _he still has no fucking clue about how he has to spin this_.

“Right. It was how long, a few months ago?”

“Give or take. Just after New Year’s – wow, I thought you at least remembered that.”

Theon gives him a wink that would have looked seductive to anyone else but clearly says _you dragged me into this now deal with it_.

“How fun. But yes, it was – pretty much that. I went to the pub on the 31st. Didn’t feel like saying yes to the invitation with my dad’s name on it, you know.”

“He really looked like he needed to be cheered up. Well, I was working on New Year’s, it was hardly my best day as well.”

“So, uh, let’s say he made me a few cocktails. Good cocktails, mind it.”

“Why, thank you for recognizing my expertise. Anyway, uh, right, so people started to leave around two in the morning but he wouldn’t. Said he would deal better with his misery if he wasn’t trying to sleep in an empty bed and all that jazz. At which, uh –”

“At which he leans a bit forward on the table and goes like, _well, doesn’t have to be that way if you’re amenable_ , I suppose he also might have been feeling somewhat miserable –”

“Fine, I also had a few drinks myself or I wouldn’t have proposed him a drunken hook-up, it’s not like I wanted his father to murder me in case someone was planted outside with cameras, but no one was and he was amenable, so, uh, we went back up to his place.”

“I trust it was a good hook-up,” Oberyn says, sounding very interested in the topic. Damn it.

“Well, yeah, it was, but you can forget the details. Anyway, uh, obviously no one did the walk of shame the day after.”

“Definitely,” Theon concedes. “And, er, let’s say that since it turned out we were, uhm, _compatible_ , we figured we might give it a shot as a, you know, no strings attached thing for a bit.”

“Until it turned out we actually were compatible in, er, other areas other than that, we thought we should just give it a go for real. That’s it, really, no reason to look that skeptical.”

“Knowing you I’d have expected something less mundane,” Oberyn goes on, still sounding very amused indeed.”

“Maybe I’m not as mundane as the rest of my breed,” Jaime quips back, and it seems to be a satisfying answer, good, maybe now they can just change the topic, if –

“Why, Jaime, but you aren’t in _other_ ways,” his brother suddenly says appearing right in between him and Brienne, and _when did Tyrion get here_?

“Aren’t you supposed to be upstairs?” Jaime asks without even greeting him – shit, he could have warned at least.

“Well, yes, but do you think you were the only person who didn’t relish sharing a table with our illustrious close relatives? So I figured I’d come down and say hi to both you and aunt Genna, who somehow managed to get herself seated over there and avoid the tension up there, and also to warn you that appetizers are finally coming. I’m hurt, I thought I was paying you a favor. By the way, hello Oberyn, everyone, I hope you’re not getting too bored. Though I supposed I could alleviate that, while you wait for your oysters.”

“How so?” Ygritte asks, perking up.

“They didn’t lie about how they got together, coming to visit and finding them eating breakfast at midday was entertaining –”

“Tyrion, _seriously_?” Jaime groans. Damn it, he must have heard. He regrets having clued his brother in, but it’s not as if he could have avoided it – never mind that he doesn’t like lying to the only relative he has that he doesn’t despise these days (except maybe aunt Genna) and viceversa, but Tyrion would have understood it at once, so no point in trying. And he had looked fairly entertained at the prospect of seeing Jaime and Theon being fake partners, so Jaime had thought he didn’t have anything to fear on that topic.

Shit, he might have thought wrong.

“Seriously. I mean, do you think I forgot that time when I decided to come see how you were doing and all, I didn’t find you in, decided to walk back home and then turned the corner and saw the two of you in that very interesting position with your boyfriend here tied up to the fire escape stairs? Because man, _that_ was a sight. It was just your luck that it was late and it’s on a back alley so no one could have seen, right?”

Theon openly chokes on his wine, Jaime just barely manages to not shout _what the hell_ at Tyrion (who by the way knows perfectly that if it were for him, he’d never be in the position of tying anyone up, maybe the contrary, and certainly not in public), Ygritte whistles and nods in approval, Oberyn says something like _well that’s more like it_ , Robb Stark and Sam Tarly have just gone red in the face and Jeyne Westerling is snorting openly at seeing Stark’s reaction. Meanwhile, Brienne Tarth is just staring impassively at the both of them and somehow _that_ is what is making him wish Tyrion just kept his mouth shut.

“Tyrion, you could have, you know, kept that to yourself.”

“Why, and there was that time with Bronn’s car, he’s quite never recovered – oh, but I see the oysters are coming. I probably need to get back upstairs – but I’ll drop by later. Enjoy the food, or my father is going to bribe the Michelin judges to take a star from the poor chef he hired and we don’t want that, do we?”

Jaime has never, ever in his life been more thankful for the existence of oysters and his father’s and Cersei’s stuck-up tastes when it comes to appetizers.

“That was interesting,” Oberyn says two oysters later and after a long, long silence.

“Well, it’s not – I mean, it’s not like it’s something that, uh, happens in public as often as my brother likes to think, er, really, it’s not,” Jaime manages, ignoring the resolute kick he has just received from under the table.

Ygritte looks ready to push, but then –

“Come on, let’s leave them alone,” Brienne says, and – what? “I don’t know what’s so interesting about getting tied up to the fire escape, because it just sounds very uncomfortable to me, no offense meant, but it’s not like you were sharing it yourselves, so. Uh. Really, even if someone’s an ass, I wouldn’t wish on them to be in that position.”

Jaime could kiss her for that, and – wait _what has he just thought_ – but he’s just going to take it for the out it is. And then –

“She’s right,” Stark agrees, “they weren’t sharing. Let’s, uh, just drop it. By the way, the oysters are good. For being oysters.”

“Why, you don’t like them?” Sam asks, looking obviously eager at the chance to change the topic.

“Nah,” Robb says, “too pretentious and salty. I’ll take French fries over this stuff any day, but what can I do, it’s not my wedding.”

“Your wedding would be held in a diner,” Jeyne says fondly, “which is also one of the reasons we couldn’t have worked out, no offense.”

“Hey, you deserve a nice proper wedding with good food and a nice reception, no offense taken whatsoever. If it’s not my thing that doesn’t mean it shouldn’t be yours. I’m still going to be offended if I’m not your best man, though.”

“I would never offend you like that,” she agrees, and well, isn’t Theon looking fairly pained at that conversation? He needs to somehow inquire later so that at least they’re on the same page, and not just because they need to agree on whatever they forgot to plan before going through with this.

Meanwhile, they’re thankfully saved by the first courses getting served – of course they couldn’t ask the five-star chef for something edible and Jaime finds himself in front of a plate that looks like some kind of weird French and Chinese fusion food in – obviously – not a large portion.

He sighs and grabs a fork.

He doesn’t want to be the first to say it, but –

“To be fair,” Sam says, sounding pained, “Robb’s idea of marrying at a diner is fairly understandable if this is the alternative.”

“I’ve eaten better protein shakes,” Brienne mutters to herself.

“Come on,” Oberyn says, “for being fusion it’s – not bad.”

“Except that fusion food isn’t proper wedding food,” Ygritte interjects.

“Can’t disagree over there,” Oberyn concedes.

“I told Dad he should have just sent my brother,” Robb sighs. “He loves this kinda thing, he’d have been ecstatic.”

“The one who likes hockey?” Theon asks, and to Jaime’s ears he’s totally failing to sound casual.

“Yeah. Sadly it’s a – uh, complicated situation. He’s not really – I mean, in theory he’s my cousin, not my brother, but he’s lived with us since forever so it’s pretty much the same. And, er, let’s say that my aunt had him out of wedlock with this old nobility guy and his family didn’t approve and that family’s sort of tied with yours, Lannister, I mean, business-speaking, so it was kind of a problem and – whatever. Complete bullshit if you ask me, but what can one do.”

“It’s – nice, though. I mean, that you’re that close. And all. I mean, sounds like you are, sorry if –”

“Hey, no apologies needed. It’s true, we are.”

Jaime goes back to his food agreeing that he’d have rather had a cheeseburger.

Then.

“Wait a moment, you mean, your brother’s, uh, Aerys Targaryen’s legendary secret grandson whose name is never uttered around the family manor lest they bring up the fact that Rhaegar dared having kids out of wedlock?”

“Er, yeah. And you know that, how?”

“Long story. Aerys used to be around fairly often. Sadly for me. And he also was my CO, if anyone remembers that. Good thing that no one from the family was invited, all things considered,” he sighs, and suddenly no one has anything to say – he should have kept his mouth shut, probably. Everyone knows that story somehow, he did make the papers after all, and his horrible fusion food is threatening to come back up in his throat –

“Well, if he was here he’d have shaken your hand,” Robb shrugs before going back to attempting to finish his food, “I think he met Aerys twice and both times he spent the next month sleeping badly. Really, stop looking like you just swallowed a whole egg.”

“Er, thanks,” Jaime retorts, and looks down at his food again. Christ, he’s not feeling like eating any of that at all.

“I read about that in the papers,” Brienne whispers a few minutes later when Jaime has been staring at the food for entirely too long and everyone else has wisely changed the topic of conversation.

“What?”

“About your CO. And while there are a lot of entirely not nice things you might deserve, the media crucifixion wasn’t one of them.”

She’s resolutely staring down at her plate in disgust as she says it, but at least she seems to be disgusted with the food. And she sounds like she means it.

“Why, thanks, that’s – appreciated,” he says, and finds himself meaning it. “Also, you don’t have to finish that if you don’t want to. I mean, it’s fucking horrible.”

“My dad might have warned me that it wasn’t a good idea to – er, come off as if I wasn’t enjoying the party. You know.”

“Not to be an asshole again, but you don’t look like you’re enjoying it in the first place.”

She flinches a bit and doesn’t deny it, though when she looks back up at him she looks somewhat apologetic and somewhat wary of what he might be about to do.

Well, fuck that. He grabs her plate and dumps the food on his own, then pushes it ahead.

“Now I can take the blame for that and you don’t have to eat it. That sound like a good compromise?”

“Might be,” she concedes, her eyes going slightly soft even if her mouth stays closed in a thin line, and for a moment he thinks _but how would it look on her if she cracked a smile_ , and – what is he even thinking? Gods, he’s really over in his head, isn’t he?

Never mind that even if he wanted to hit on her, which he probably shouldn’t do for a whole list of reasons first of which that she most probably still thinks he’s a complete asshole, he’s supposed to be dating Theon here, isn’t he.

The waiter gets there not long later, takes Jaime’s plate with a fairly terrified look and leaves them, thankfully. Shit, it’s just the first of the first courses.

He hopes that the fusion experimentation won’t continue for the rest of the reception, even if he’s entirely not sure about that.

His fears are confirmed with the second first course.

“And this is supposed to be what?” Ygritte asks, looking down at the plate with suspicion.

“I think it’s… Japanese and Italian? The basic concept, anyway,” Oberyn says, though he doesn’t sound too sure of that.

“Robb, when you’re my best man remind me that while the wedding isn’t going to be in a diner, I should aim for more human food,” Jeyne sighs before reaching for her second fork and grabbing a mouthful.

“Cross my heart,” Robb groans. “How is it?”

“Not too bad if you don’t taste it,” Jeyne proclaims. Jaime tries it. She’s kind of right.

Then Theon does, and –

“Uh, I don’t mind it?” He says, though he’s talking as if the entire table might murder him for that.

“Really?” Ygritte asks. “It’s horrid.”

“Not really? I mean, it’s – nice?”

“You know what,” Robb says, “considering the portions, it’s not even going to matter. Have mine.”

“Great idea,” Sam agrees, and a moment later Theon’s plate actually resembles a normal portion of… spaghetti tempura or what the hell is that food even.

“Well,” Theon shrugs, “at least I’m not going to starve.”

Which is a good thing as far as Jaime knows – from what Theon’s sort of hinted in between shifts and having to manage expenses he doesn’t exactly indulge in large meals or _fusion food_ , so if he likes it that’s even better.

He also pretty much eats most of their third and fourth first courses, and at least he stops looking worried that they might think he’s excessively weird for liking that darned food.

He tunes out some conversation that Jeyne and Ygritte are having on the other side of the table and looks at his left in spite of himself – Brienne is keeping her hands on the side as if she doesn’t know what to do with them and she really looks like a live wire ready to snap and bolt out of this misery of a wedding in which she has no place being, and he can entirely feel her pain at that.

He takes a breath.

“Tarth, you know what, the conversation’s lacking. What do you say about Lukacevic going to the Capitals?”

Thing is – he had kind of thrown that out partially out of being bored out of his mind and wanting to talk about something familiar and partially because she had something nice to tell him in spite of him having been an ass to her since they met, so he felt like at least giving her a decent out, and –

And her eyes go narrow and then she starts talking.

Now, the thing is: Jaime somehow never had much of a chance to discuss hockey with anyone. In his family being into sports that much had always been seen as something you were supposed to outgrow by the time you were ten, and Tyrion had tried to keep up, bless him, but it was always obvious that he’d have rather spent that time discussing the _Lord of the Rings_ appendixes. (Just to be fair, Jaime had read the appendixes and the entire thing just so that Tyrion could discuss them with _someone_ even if fantasy bores the hell out of him and it took him six months to finish it when it took Tyrion some two weeks. So they had a mutual agreement – either of them would let the other blather about either fantasy tropes or the last Elite League game without expecting the other to give a serious input to the discussion.) He’s never had friends per se – not when they didn’t even go to school, they had private teachers hired especially for them. He never even brought up the option of playing it himself in a gym lest his father completely lost it at the idea of his children mingling with commoners. So it was always something he never really got to share with anyone.

Until now, because Brienne is worse than he is. She remembers entire roosters from the last twenty years or so, she has opinions which are actually sensed most of the time – and hey, she’s a player, she’d know –, she tapes games when she can’t watch them, and she could probably talk about it for the next ten years.

Sure as hell, she can talk about it long enough that when a waiter brings the first second course they notice that a lot of time must have passed just when the food is dropped in front of them.

Of course, since his sister hates him and his father can’t care less and the universe also detests Jaime, pretty much, they decided that fusion was just for the first courses. For the seconds, why not starting with wholesome, rare steaks which he sure as hell can’t cut decently with his prosthesis which he can barely even use anyway?

Fuck. Also, obviously Theon is on his left side – it made sense for them to sit that way if they wanted to throw some handholding in the mix, right? – which means it ten times more awkward because it wouldn’t really have seemed weird if Theon gave him a hand cutting the meat, but if he has to move all over him, or worse, stand and cut it for him –

Shit, he’s in a decent table but he’d die of embarrassment, and he really needs to find a solution now –

Before anyone can notice his internal struggle, Brienne grabs one of his forks and discreetly places it at the corner of the steak.

Then she nods at him as if saying _well then, go on and cut this already_.

Jaime swallows and does – she moves the fork whenever he’s done cutting a piece and by the time the waiter has served everyone else they’re done and he has some ten pieces already cut on his plate without too much fuss.

“Thanks,” he says under his breath.

“For what?” She replies, and starts cutting her own food.

Jaime glances at her arms – all muscle, indeed – and swallows a bite of meat. Then he feels a hand nudging him under the table and he turns towards Theon, who’s sending him a look that someone who doesn’t know might take as fond but that Jaime can only interpret as _we need to talk_.

Jaime gives him a short nod and kisses him on the cheek for show, and then they get back to eating – they need to find a decent way out.

Then the waiter comes back, looking frankly terrified.

“Uh,” he says, “for the greens – there has been a problem in the kitchen, and – we cannot bring them over, but if sirs and madams don’t mind, there’s a buffet at the end of the room where they can serve themselves. We are awfully sorry for –”

“Son, calm down,” Oberyn says, “this isn’t the table for rich stuck-ups. Well, I guess we’re rich but we’re not that kind of assholes. We’ll go get our own _greens_ , don’t you worry.”

The kid runs off looking grateful for the break and Robb clears his throat.

“Well, I guess we should start going. Actually I can just get them for everyone. I mean, I don’t really mind.”

“I can come with you,” Brienne says, “I used to wait tables in high school to get some extra money.”

“Great. Then we should just go? We’ll bring a bit of everything.”

“Thanks,” Jeyne says, “you’re a literal treasure.”

“Bite me,” Robb replies serenely, “we split amicably.”

“Too bad you weren’t a treasure compatible with _me_ ,” Jeyne says, winking at him. Robb just sighs openly and leaves, Brienne following him.

“You know what,” Jaime says, “I think I need to go to the bathroom to wash my face a moment.”

“Wait, I’m coming, too,” Theon says, taking the bait. “I totally could do with refreshing a moment. See you all in a few,” he says before standing and waiting for him to follow – they hold hands until they reached the men’s bathroom and then Jaime lets Theon lock the door while he leans against the thankfully sparkly clean tiles.

“Shit,” they both say at the same time, and he has to laugh at that because really, what was the chance?

“Well, at least we are on the same page on that,” Theon groans.

“Hey, how could I know that my brother would stick his nose in? Or that we’d end up – I mean, it’s not that I like her or anything but –”

“Lannister, seriously? You two have been talking for like one hour. Just about hockey. You _completed each others’ sentences_. She might have crap taste in elegant clothing but that’s not the point. You can say that you like her, you know.”

“Well, maybe, and what about you? I mean, if I’m obvious you’re worse. You look like you literally want to jump his bones when you don’t pay attention.”

“What? I don’t! I mean, no, I kind of want to, scratch it, I wish he would jump mine, but after that stint your brother pulled – shit, I mean, even if we weren’t technically together do you think he’d consider it when as far as he knows I like having sex _tied to the fucking emergency stairs_?”

“I didn’t know he was going to do that! And for that matter that’s valid for me, too – do you think Brienne Tarth over there looks like the person who’d hook up with someone who screws his boyfriend in _Bronn’_ s car?”

“Ah, so you want to ask her out.”

“Who said that – ah, fuck, I kind of did, didn’t I?”

“We’re screwed, aren’t we?”

Yes, Jaime thinks, they are. Majorly screwed. Screwed at some really creative degrees.

“Listen,” he says, “maybe we can just, try to get their numbers just to hang out or something and then we all go out together after this storm blows over and explain them that we really weren’t together after all?”

“Yeah, if they’d agree to date us in the first place. Because I mean, have you seen him? Christ, if you were out of my league in theory I’m forever out of his league. If his type is _Jeyne Westerling_ I’m just not even getting my hopes up.”

“Hey, he broke up with Jeyne Westerling, who says she’s his type?”

“Well, he’s going to be the best man, sure as hell they’re compatible. I’m just not – I could never – yeah, as if.”

“Just make him a suit, I’m sure he’ll be charmed.”

“Bite me. And what are you going to do, buy her a ticket to the ballgame?”

“Stop,” Jaime sighs, “I’m not – I mean, well, I might, but I think I blew it. At most she’ll agree to watch a few games. Like hell she’d take me seriously after how I started it.”

“See, good manners do get you somewhere. Anyway. We need to soldier through this. Let’s just get their goddamned numbers, then we can think about it and if it’s obvious that we don’t have any chances before the evening is over we can just get drunk about it tomorrow. Maybe we can have a pity fuck for real.”

“You’re hilarious, _darling_. Okay, fine, let’s just – be sensible, be fake boyfriends and try to not look as if we want to stab ourselves at the prospect of losing the chances of dating people we actually like, how about that?”

“Sounds reasonable. _Dear_. Shall we?”

“Sure. Let’s go,” Jaime sighs, and follows Theon out of the bathroom, and anyone could sense that the both of them aren’t in the best mood at all.

Well, they’ll manage this. They did so far, they can see this through, goddamn it.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay have a small oberyn POV interlude because I had to clue you in as to what was happening at the table without either jaime or theon being there. enjoy. XD

Oberyn waits some thirty seconds to make sure that neither Lannister nor his supposed boyfriend can hear after they leave, and then he decides that it’s been long enough.

“Okay, people, I think taking bets is in order.”

“Wait, what?” Sam asks, not expecting that, probably.

“Tarly, you have seen those four, right? There is no way in hell that they’re leaving this table without major partner-switching happening.”

“Seriously? But Lannister is with –”

“Oh, come on,” Ygritte interrupts, “they’re pretending. One can see it a mile away. I mean, if those two hadn’t happened maybe I’d have been fooled, but in between the way they all looked at each other and their faces when Tyrion Lannister showed up, I’d bet money on it. Faking. Totally faking. Now the only question is who’s going to get lucky in between the four of them.”

“Right,” Oberyn agrees, nodding eagerly – at least someone else had noticed it. “Because I mean, if Brienne and Lannister don’t get over that unreleased tension before the cake is served I’ll be surprised, but I’m not so sure Jaime’s supposed _boyfriend_ is going to be that lucky. I mean, he’s a goner, obviously, but I guess Stark might be a little too nice for –”

He never finishes that sentence because Jeyne quite soundly chokes on her wine.

“Jeyne?” He asks as she coughs, trying not to laugh and obviously trying to stop tears from leaving her eyes lest her make-up gets ruined. “Are you all right?”

“Me? I’m perfectly fine,” she wheezes before taking in a deep breath. “And if you think Robb’s too nice for Theon over there, you’re all completely wrong. I mean – oh my God, this is going to be hilarious – but didn’t you listen to me before? When I said that me and Robb broke up and stayed friends?”

“We did? But what does that have to do with the matter at hand?”

“The matter at hand is that Robb is a nice guy, indeed. I don’t want to sound like I’m bragging or anything, but I also happen to be more or less like that. I mean, the problem was partly that we were too similar and we got each other perfectly so we were excellent friends but not great dates.”

“Partly,” Ygritte says. “And what was the rest of it?”

Jeyne smirks like someone who has access to incredibly important information and leans a bit forward. “Let’s say that I’d be good with dating someone nice. I mean, I am the kind of person who likes to date people who have a similar personality. And to be honest I have simple tastes. Of _that_ kind. You get what I mean.”

“Okay,” Sam agrees slowly. “You mean that Robb –”

“Robb has a type. And that type isn’t _nice_. He’s always had a thing for tall, dark, slightly rude, and amenable to spice it up in the bedroom. What I mean is that his problem isn’t that Theon Greyjoy over there, who has exactly the right percentage of rude in him, likes being tied up to fire escapes, if that’s even true since according to all of you they aren’t even dating. Robb’s problem is that he thinks that Theon Greyjoy likes to do that with _Jaime Lannister_ and that Theon Greyjoy obviously also likes his partners tall and slightly rude, which might be a problem because in order to make Robb angry you really have to put some effort in it.”

“Wait,” Oberyn says, unable to keep himself from smirking, “you mean that Stark thinks he’s too nice for Greyjoy and he’s currently eating himself from the inside because he’s obviously taken? While Greyjoy is most probably thinking that he blew all his chances after that fire escape story?”

“That’s _exactly_ what I’m saying.”

“Ladies, gentleman,” Oberyn says, grabbing his planner from his suit’s pocket, “I think it’s time to place the bets. How long before they crack, who cracks first, how hard we’re going to laugh when that happens. Quick, before they come back. The winner gets a free meal for however many people they want at my sister’s restaurant.”

Somehow, he does manage to write it all down before Robb and Brienne show up with their plates full of greens and side dishes, and even Tarly actually put a bet in, for last – this wedding is going to be a lot funnier than any of them anticipated. And Elia won’t have his head for the whole free meal thing.

What he doesn’t expect is Genna Lannister dropping by _to say hi to her favorite nephew, and isn’t your boyfriend handsome, Jaime, you did inherit some taste from your mother_ , and slipping him a note before she leaves.

He opens it when no one is paying attention.

_All of us at the next table over would love a dinner at your sister’s. Count us in_ , the note reads, and then there’s – Oberyn has to really stop himself from dissolving in gigglefits the moment he sees the bet written down on the piece of paper and signed by every other person sitting in that table. He glances – other than Genna, there’s her husband, her two sons, and some family friends who he can’t place right now, but they all look very invested in what’s happening over here.

He nods at Genna and puts the piece of paper in his pocket.

So far, he has bet that Greyjoy cracks first and after he and Stark finally spill everything, Lannister might tell Tarth as well – he doubts she’s going to go first. She looks way too out of place to take the first move. Before the cake arrives. They can’t last that long.

Ygritte instead decided that she needed to go with female solidarity and is somehow sure that Tarth is going to crack first and Stark later – _Greyjoy looks too emotionally constipated for that_. She’s betting on it happening when fruit gets served – not later.

Jeyne said that she’d feel like a traitor if she didn’t stick for her former boyfriend, therefore she said that Robb’s going to crack first also because he always was a shitty liar, and then Lannister will follow suit. Possibly before the cake arrives, also.

Sam had thought about it and said that no, Lannister is going to go first because he’s the one who looks more constipated out of everyone, and after then Stark might take the lead and do it, and no, they’re going to eat the cake first but won’t wait too long.

According to the group in Genna’s table, Jaime is going to go first but then Greyjoy’s going to fess up to Stark and not the contrary. And it’s going to happen when drinks are served after the cake.

Well, then it’s time to see who cracks first, he figures, and he’s absolutely not going to pretend he doesn’t know that they’re faking.

He hadn’t really wanted to come to this farce, but all things considered? He’s really glad he did come after all.

 

TBC


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay guys this is it - have fun. the thing with the figs and the cream puffs is actually a reference only the recipient of this fic and possibly italians might get but if someone guesses it you have amazing taste. XDD I'm going to put up a small epilogue later tonight because I have to go out now but I wanted to have the actual bulk of it up, so enjoy :D

_I’d have thought talking it out would have made this slightly more bearable_ , Theon thinks, _but no, of course not_. The universe hates him. The universe thoroughly and completely hates him and this reception is just the ultimate proof of it. First he comes back to a plate full of zucchini, salad without condiments and mushrooms, which Robb had put together from the sides he and Brienne brought along, because Theon casually mentioned liking all of that stuff and Robb _remembered_ that, then Jeyne Westerling starts asking Robb questions that just people who are close friends and have been for ages would ask, which is not helping with his current predicament. Then Tyrion Lannister shows up again to ask Jaime if he told the rest of the table about that time they traumatized _Sandor Clegane_ out of everyone (Theon doesn’t even know the guy, he just knows that he’s a driver for the family and that it’s really complicated to traumatize him any further than he already is for undisclosed reasons).

“Come on, Jaime, you were fifteen minutes late to Lancel’s graduation and he just wanted to get you, it’s not your fault that you left out that riding crop while you were showering,” Tyrion Lannister had said, _winking_ at them before going to say hi to their aunt again and supposedly escape whatever nightmare’s going down at the upper floor.

Theon had just groaned the most mortified groan of his entire life while Jaime tried to downplay it – damn it.

And then –

“You know,” Robb had whispered, flushing under his beard, “there’s no reason to be that mortified – I mean, I get it, it has to be embarrassing, but, uh, there’s nothing wrong in liking that kind of thing. If that’s what works for you.”

Theon almost chokes on his zucchini, because like, the thing is that he never told anyone but he _might_ have tried it that way a couple times and then let that be because he never found someone who wasn’t in it for the sadism when he was looking for – other things, really, and it’s not even that he finds it embarrassing. But the point is that now he’s thinking about _Robb_ maybe possibly doing that kinda shit with him and damn it but he needs to really stop. It’s already a miracle that Robb doesn’t think he’s some kind of exhibitionist deviant, he really couldn’t ask for that _especially_ when Robb’s definitely not into him anyway. For one, if Jeyne Westerling was his type enough for them to date, he’s probably straight, so he shouldn’t even get his hopes up.

“No, it’s – I mean, I’m not – embarrassed because of that, it’s just that it’s not really the kinda shit you discuss in these occasions.”

“Yeah, I can imagine,” Robb says, his throat sounding somewhat dry. Theon doesn’t let himself assume that there are good reasons for it – probably he’s just embarrassed at talking openly about this kinda shit too, not that he can’t understand it. Still, the prospect –

Yeah, _as if_. He needs to stop that train of thought right the hell now. The last thing he needs now is adding sexual frustration to his current situation of complete frustration in any other sense.

“ _Anyway_ , thanks for – uh. Saying that. Not everyone is that open minded.”

“I think Robb just wants to try it out,” Jeyne interrupts, and – _what_?

“Jeyne, maybe it’s not the moment –”

“Oh, you’ve been wanting to _spice it up_ in the bedroom for years and never outright asked me just out of knowing I wasn’t interested, and that was very sweet of you but that was also another reason why we’d have made a terrible married couple, had we gotten that far. Then again, I doubt I’d have accepted to marry in a diner.”

“Yeah, we definitely wouldn’t have made it that far, and can we discuss my sex life somewhere else?” Robb sounds almost pained at the thought, not that Theon doesn’t understand him.

He glances at his left just to monitor the situation – no, Jaime is discussing something else hockey-related with Brienne, as if he was going to get any help there. Well, he might as well leave him to it, if he drags him into this conversation it’s going to be a problem.

“Sounds reasonable,” Ygritte says. “Too bad. It was entertaining.”

Theon is frankly terrified by this woman. She might be his type as far as looks go but she definitely is _not_ as far as attitude goes – and he knows even too well, since he can be that kind of person. He just would rather not be right now lest he never sees Robb Stark ever again, which sounds like a very bad predicament right now. He needs more wine and gets himself some, just before the waiter comes by with a fava beans soup.

“Wait, there’s still food?”

Oberyn looks at his very expensive and stylish wristwatch. “It’s… eight in the evening. Knowing how this kind of wedding goes and knowing Tywin Lannister, we aren’t going to see the cake before nine thirty. Maybe. Though if what my sister tells me is true, maybe we can hope for a quicker resolution.”

“Why, what does your sister say?” Sam asks.

Oberyn takes his phone out of his suit pocket and obviously checks the last texts. “Let’s see… well, she started with _situation FUBAR_ , what should we have expected. Anyway, sounds like Jaime’s father wants to murder the groom, the groom is on his way to full-on drunk, Cersei Lannister is glaring daggers at anyone daring to come close to their table, your brother is apparently livetweeting the entire disaster – well, I suppose I should check after we’re done reading – Stannis Baratheon is pretty much answering rudely to anyone who dares side-eye his date the moment said date mentions having belonged to a miners union in the eighties, no one dares speaking up unless they’re directly related to our merry spouses and Renly Baratheon is making doe eyes at Loras Tyrell even if they’re sitting on opposite sides of the room. Ladies, gentlemen, seeing this I can just say that I’m very happy that Tywin didn’t deem me worthy of sitting on the first floor.”

_No shit_ , Theon mentally agrees.

“You know what,” Ygritte suddenly says, “I have a better idea than checking Tyrion’s livetweeting. We have two full bottles of wine. We’ll be done with the soup in a short while, considering that we didn’t even eat the first course. How about we play _I never_ while we wait?”

“Are you sure it’s a good idea?” Sam asks.

“It’s an excellent idea,” she says with the voice of someone who knows something not all the table is privy to.

“I’m in,” Jeyne agrees, “this wine is great. The only great thing they served us until now.”

“Sure,” Oberyn says, “who am I to say no to more wine.”

“Well, fine, I guess,” Sam also agrees. Let Robb say no, Theon thinks, or they’ll be in the minority and he so does not need to play that game right now –

“If everyone agrees why not,” Robb says. _Shit_.

“I suppose I’m in the minority, but fine,” Brienne sighs, not sounding that enthusiastic.

“Well, guess we’re in, aren’t we,” Theon tells Jaime, their fingers threading on the top of the table. God, it had felt a lot better when they were just pretending on their damned own.

“Sure,” Jaime shrugs, “as if some alcohol ever was a problem for me. I guess Ygritte starts since she proposed and all.”

_Even better_ , Theon groans internally. This is going to be a disaster. A complete fucking disaster.

Ygritte pours half a glass for everyone, says that a generous sip will be acceptable and thinks about her _opening question_ while they eat the fava beans soup, which at least is good.

And then she smirks before wrapping her fingers around the glass.

“I’ve never had a massive row with my parents,” she says, and doesn’t drink. Robb doesn’t. Oberyn doesn’t. Brienne doesn’t either. Jaime, Sam and Jeyne all bring the glass to their lips.

Well, screw it. He just finishes all of it at once.

“Wow,” Ygritte says, “something tells me you win this round.”

“You don’t even want to know,” he sighs. “I’ve never bought second-hand clothes.”

Oberyn is about the one person who doesn’t take a sip of wine and just shrugs at the incredulous looks he gets. “Well? I never needed to. I said I wasn’t an asshole before, not that I couldn’t afford new clothes when I want them. I guess it’s my turn?”

“Well, _you_ were the only one doing something different, so,” Jeyne concedes.

“I’ve never been on a date,” he finally says.

And – _Brienne_ is the only person who looks down at the glass, brings it up, then shrugs and puts it back down.

“What, really?” Jaime asks, and Theon kicks him under the table – fuck, the guy’s probably drunk but that sounded _horrible_ and it’s obvious that Brienne doesn’t like that subject. Can’t he be more civilized? And that’s _Theon_ saying it, damn it.

Brienne just shrugs again. “Well, I went on one once, but it ended terribly and it’s not anything I’d like to relish at a wedding. As badly as it seems to be going. Should I?”

“Sure,” Ygritte tells her, and has Jaime just gone slightly tense? Oh shit, he’s probably outraged that she’s never been on one proper date, knowing him even some, except that she probably thinks he’s making fun of her. Amazing, isn’t it.

“Okay. Uhm. I’ve never actually played this game in my life, let me think – I’ve never worn an outfit I hated.”

_Everyone_ drinks at once, her included.

“Wow,” Oberyn says appreciatively, “congratulations on getting everyone to agree on something. I guess we can go clockwise at this point. Sam?”

“Er, I’ve never been to a wedding I didn’t want to attend.”

Theon doesn’t even think before taking a long drink – everyone else does. Well, until now it’s not been terrible – could be worse. Oberyn is next, and he’s not so sure he doesn’t dread what he’s going to ask, considering that he also looks like someone who knows something Theon doesn’t.

“I’ve never lied to cover up for my siblings,” Oberyn finally says.

Theon wants to laugh bitterly at that – as if. Robb drinks, Jaime drinks, Sam does though not much, Oberyn drinks, Jeyne drinks, no one else does.

“Sorry, I’m an only child, I never had that kind of problem,” Ygritte says.

“Same,” Brienne says, sounding as if she’s holding something back. No one presses, hearing the tone.

“Let’s say that my brothers aren’t the kind of people I’d put my ass on the line for and my sister’s fairly responsible herself,” Theon says, hoping no one presses. No one does.

Too bad that Ygritte has to ask again.

“I’ve never had an unrequited crush,” she says, smirking. Everyone but Oberyn drinks without comments. Ygritte turns towards him with both eyebrows raised.

“How about _that_?”

Oberyn smirks. “If I _crush_ on someone I’m not the kind of person that lets it stayed unrequited for long. Shall we move on?”

“Right.” Jeyne looks at her glass, seemingly thinking about it. Then.

“I’ve never argued with my parents because they didn’t like my friends or my choice in partners,” she says, and then she downs the entire glass.

About everyone else drinks, but Ygritte obviously can’t let that go. “Is there a story behind how much wine you just drank at once?”

“Oh, sure, my mother detests Robb here. She used to say he corrupted me or some crap like that – can you even _imagine_?”

“What?” Theon spits, not even managing to stop himself.

“Er, her mom isn’t a very nice person,” Robb sighs.

“Stark, her mother is a horrible person, and when _I_ say it, you can be sure she is,” Jaime says solemnly. “That’s why she’s been trying for years to marry into the family, she’d fit right in. Good thing you’re not going to be the sacrificial lamb.”

“Never,” Jeyne agrees, and Theon can’t just compute how someone thinks Robb is a _bad_ person. Okay, his dad wouldn’t be happy with someone like that either, but Theon’s dad isn’t exactly normal when it comes to judging people.

“I lucked out, I guess,” Brienne sighs.

“As in?” Jaime asks, God, he has even less restraint than Theon himself, doesn’t he.

“My dad thought the guy I went on that date with was an asshole. Turns out he was right,” she sighs. “Well, whose turn is it now?”

It’s Robb’s. Shit, the bottle is almost over and Theon doesn’t think he’s drunk enough for another round.

“I’ve never trusted too much someone I shouldn’t have,” he finally says, and takes a long, long drink. Theon considers it and then thinks, _you ended up trusting family members that weren’t Asha and look at where it brought you_. He drinks heartily. Oberyn doesn’t, Ygritte doesn’t, everyone else at least takes a sip. He kind of wants to inquire but Robb doesn’t look too keen on it and ah, shit, it’s his turn. Great. Also the wine is about to get to his head and he would really rather not drink any further before fruit comes, or at least he wants a break, so he has to go for something he has never done, right? He’s about to say _I’ve never dated someone I was in love with_ but then he remembers that he’s supposed to have dated Jaime for some months yet, so maybe it’s not a good idea.

Well, fuck that, his dignity’s shot to hell anyway.

“I’ve never had a birthday party,” he says, and lets his glass stay on the table.

Everyone drinks, except that Brienne stares at her glass for a bit before shrugging and finally taking a sip.

“Well, that’s sad,” Ygritte declares, staring at him.

“Told you, my dad’s an asshole,” Theon shrugs.

“And what was that indecision?” Jaime asks Brienne – oh, shit, he’s really drunk, isn’t he?

“I did have a few,” Brienne sighs. “But no one ever showed up.”

“ _What_? Fuck, and I thought being homeschooled was bad,” Jaime proclaims, and well, okay, maybe he dodged that bullet. Brienne lets out a half-snort though – huh, she actually likes that humor? Maybe there’s hope for at least one of them yet.

“Well then,” Jaime says, refilling his own glass, “I’ve never had to deal with supposed friends who were, in truth, assholes.”

Theon leaves his glass on the table.

He’s the only one.

“Uhm, how exactly did you dodge that bullet?” Jeyne asks – damn, how isn’t she completely drunk already?

He sighs. “In order to deal with supposed friends, you should, well, be _friends_ in the first place. Let’s say that for me it’s always been either acquaintances, people I dated or people I hated. So I might have dodged that bullet. Lucky me.”

For a moment, there’s complete silence, and then they’re saved by their still-overtly-terrified young waiter bringing over the fruit.

Which is a very good thing, because it’s also a step closer to the cake and to freedom, hopefully.

“But look at that,” Oberyn says, “are these fresh?” He’s eyeing the neat rows of figs placed on the tray.

“Indeed. Brought them over from Italy overnight,” the waiter confirms.

“Well, they do look tasty.”

“If sir wishes, we have chocolate to put on them. Or ham, if you’d rather.”

“How _delicious_. Finally I’m going to eat something tasty this day. I’ll have a few with chocolate.”

“Dark, milk or white?”

“Dark, thank you.”

Meanwhile, another waiter comes with a cart full of cream puffs. Which are of a nice golden color, sure thing, and –

Wait, the cream you can see at the top is red? They probably used some colorant. To make it look –

“Oh, no,” Jaime groans, “this is just embarrassing.”

“What, the Lannister cream puffs?” Ygritte asks. “You’re right. It’s tacky beyond belief. Which is why I’ll have some. Actually, how about you don’t leave a small tray in the middle of the table?”

“Of course,” the waiter agrees promptly.

“I, uh, I’m going to have figs with dark chocolate, thanks,” Theon mutters. “Everything but the custom cream puffs.”

“I’m with him,” Robb agrees. “White chocolate, though.”

All right, so he does have _one_ fault, Theon decides. Then again, preferring white chocolate to dark is hardly something that will change Theon’s mind about Robb Stark being pretty much perfection incarnated. Also, Jaime and Brienne both get dark chocolate – right, they really are made for each other, and he’d pay attention to the others if only Robb hadn’t put a hand on his arm.

“Hey,” he says, his voice going low enough that hopefully the others won’t hear, “I hope this doesn’t sound like I’m being creepy or anything but – er, your dad sounds like a piece of work and you don’t seem like the person who deserves that, so – yeah. That was it.”

Theon thinks his throat is _completely_ fucking blocked.

“Thanks,” he manages to get out, “it’s – it’s appreciated. No, really. And it totally isn’t creepy, don’t worry.”

As if – his dad still does business with Roose Bolton. Who brought his sons to dinner at least thrice, and then Theon just found excuses to not be there. Domeric was okay, to be fair, but Ramsay –

Yeah, that one was creep incarnated. Robb doesn’t even have a clue of how not creepy he’s coming off as.

“Oh. Good. Well, let’s try the figs. I’d kill for some fried Mars right now, but what can I do.”

Okay, two faults. Because really, fried mars is fucking disgusting and Theon would rather have figs any day, but then again, liking unhealthy food is _definitely_ not what’s going to change his mind. Actually, it’s kind of endearing in ways he’d rather not dwell about – just, after all we’re talking about the guy who said he’d get married in a diner, of course he’d like fried mars. But thing is, it might be that he’s drunk but suddenly the prospect of marrying Robb Stark in a goddamned diner seems fairly heavenly, and wait, is he already at the fairly depressing part where he turns into a fourteen year old and starts pondering how it’d be like to tie the knot with the guy you’re head over heels for? Or for that matter, how it’d be like to live with them long enough that they might eat some salad once in a while if you prepared it for them?

Shit, he really is drunk.

He takes a bite of his fig – well, damn, that’s good – and decides that he’s going to have seconds, maybe if he eats enough his head will stop spinning.

Except that it’s when Cersei Lannister shows up.

“Jaime,” she says all of a sudden, appearing right in between them, and Christ, couldn’t she have made some noise? All of a sudden the entire room falls completely silent.

Theon swallows and looks at her also because he’s supposed to be Jaime’s date here, so it’s not like he can just pretend she’s not there. Admittedly, she looks stunning – the white dress has fucking rubies sewn in with golden thread, he doesn’t want to know how old are the pearls that she’s wearing both as earrings and necklace, and her long, blonde hair is braided so neatly that there isn’t one lock out of place.

Except that he has never seen someone looking that cold at their own wedding.

“Cersei,” he answers, holding a fig in his left hand – never mind that his fingers are getting smeared with chocolate. “I trust you’re enjoying your reception? Sorry, I can’t exactly check for myself.”

“Well, you just had to be reasonable if you wanted to check whether I was enjoying it,” she says, sending Theon a look that makes him kind of want to cower. Christ, she’s burn him just by staring if she was the kind of x-man with that sort of superpower, and yeah, okay, Theon’s drunk. If he just did that parallel, he has drunk way more than he should have.

“Excuse me if I’d rather take my own decisions,” Jaime replies. Theon puts a hand on the small of his back not just for show – he thinks he can do with some human contact here, whichever human contact he gets.

“Why, since when haven’t you done that and kept on lowering yourself every time?” She asks, almost sweetly.

Theon thinks he can feel Robb go slightly tense at his side, and seriously, what even –

“Excuse me,” Brienne says, interrupting the icy silence that had followed that conversation, “but that’s hardly fair.”

The good thing is that Cersei stops looking at _him_ , and Theon’s fairly grateful for it. The bad one is that she turns her icy stare on Brienne, who –

Holds it?

Wow, that woman has guts.

“How so, _dear_?”

“I’m not anyone’s dear,” Brienne sighs, “and – how so. He did what he wanted with his life, seems to me like he’s managing fine enough, he had his reasons and I suppose he also has his reasons to date whoever he likes. Also, dating someone who supports themselves to do what they like is hardly what I’d call someone _lowering_ themselves. Never mind that I’m sure he didn’t even need me to say this, but I can imagine that you wouldn’t want to argue with your relatives at their wedding. I have no such problem.”

Theon is pretty sure Oberyn has just whistled under his breath. Cersei looks livid, Brienne looks entirely not amused, Theon himself just wants to fucking bolt and the entire room is staring at them.

Great. Just great. Maybe he’s not going to faint before this entire business is done, but he doubts that.

“Besides,” Robb says a moment later, and _what_ is he even doing?, “If he had been reasonable our time at this table would have been so much duller, wouldn’t it?”

“True,” Oberyn agrees. “But I guess Jeyne’s stories about the good old days in which she and our young Stark here were dating might have made the atmosphere somewhat livelier.”

“I don’t know,” Jeyne says, “we didn’t really do anything too weird. Did we?”

“No,” Robb agrees, “the craziest thing was when we went to see _Titanic_ in 3d and had to leave halfway through because we both felt sick.”

Jeyne openly laughs at that and Cersei just – stares over there.

“One wouldn’t say that you aren’t dating.”

“Oh, we’re not,” Robb confirms. “But we’ve kept in contact. Actually, thank whoever set the tables – it was great to see her, we hadn’t managed in a few weeks and I wanted to catch up.”

Shit. Now she’s livid that having put them at the same table backfired. Theon sighs and figures that he should stand up for himself, at least.

“Besides,” he says, “if your father can lower himself to do business with mine, I’m sure your brother can lower himself enough to _date_ me. Or whatever.”

“Great point,” Jaime finally says. “Thanks everyone for being the supportive human beings I was sure you would be. That said – Cersei, I’m going to date whoever the hell I like and I’m not going to explain it or justify myself to you or to Dad or to anyone. By the way, the red and gold-ish cream puffs? _Seriously_? I mean, we’re spread on three different floors, was there any further need for self-celebration?”

“ _Self-celebration_.”

“How do you call that? As if no one knows who’s getting married. There’s such a thing as overdoing it.”

“I call that making sure people do know who is getting married,” she says. “And just so you know, it was your brother insisting on the figs. I thought they were wholly unnecessary but he was in charge of catering, unfortunately.”

“Well then, I think I have a message for Tyrion, if you’ll be so kind to inform him.”

“And what would that be? _If_ I chose to deliver that, mind it.”

Jaime just stares at her straight in the eyes.

Then.

“Long live figs, to hell with cream puffs,” he says, very slowly, and then he puts an entire fig in his mouth at once.

Theon doesn’t know if he should laugh at the expression on Cersei’s face or at the fact that everyone is obviously in his same predicament or at the way Jaime is calmly chewing the damned fig, and that’s until another poor, terrified waiter comes to their table.

“Uh, Mrs. Lannister, I – I am awfully sorry to disturb you but the cake is about to be served and –”

“I _understood_ ,” she replies, and the kid just runs away without even trying to hide how terrified he is.

Cersei doesn’t move, though, and for a long, long moment nothing happens –

“But look at it. _Brienne_?” Some guy who has just stood up from five tables downwards, with red hair and a fairly forgettable face asks, and –

And Brienne looks at him with the face of someone who would rather be anywhere else, which is a lot different from how she’s stared at Cersei until now.

Jaime turns to look at the situation and Theon chances a look at Robb – Robb mouths are you still among us at him, and Theon gives him a tentative nod, and he regrets deeply the moment he thought this whole fake dating business was a good idea.

He does it, indeed.

 

TBC


	6. Chapter 6

Admittedly, Jaime is drunk. Also, he’s trying to swallow the damned fig, so whoever that guy is, he chose a bad moment to interrupt that conversation, but the guy also has to be drunk off his ass or he wouldn’t have intruded in a scene where Cersei was present.

He can see waiters with ready trays full of cake at the bottom of the room, all terrified. God, this wedding is a farce.

Anyway, Brienne also looks – dejected or something, and that’s weird, because a moment ago she was staring back at his sister to stick up for him, for that matter.

“Ronnet,” she hisses. “I hadn’t known you were here. Now how about you pay me a favor and go back to your table?”

The guy doesn’t and moves closer – she has to turn to look at him, and even if she’s taller than he is by a good ten centimeters in between the fact that she’s clearly uncomfortable and the way she obviously can’t wear that dress without feeling self-conscious he looks like the one with the upper hand here.

“I don’t know,” he says, “we haven’t seen each other in ages.”

“And good thing that. Do I have to remind you why?”

“I see that your taste in clothes hasn’t changed, has it?”

“I don’t choose my clothes to please anyone, and I see your attitude hasn’t changed either.”

Also _what has he just said_? Okay, that dress is horrible, but like, who is this guy to go and insult her like that? _Jaime_ can make fun of that damned dress, especially because he was already pondering paying Theon to make her a better one so he could use it as some kind of card to make her forgive him for being an ass at the beginning. But not this tool. Who does he even think he is?

“Well, you could have just come in your usual. I mean, I heard your little game before.”

“So you _knew_ I was here.”

“I did, but you didn’t tell them why did that date go wrong.”

Ah, so that’s the asshole Brienne’s father didn’t like. Jaime is of the opinion that Brienne’s father must be a pretty perceptive guy.

“Connington, how about you shut your mouth and we drop this?”

“How about you let him finish? I’m interested,” Cersei says. Well, fuck, now he will, won’t he?

“We went on a date once –”

“He asked me,” Brienne interrupts him before he can. “We were high school classmates. It was the first time someone ever did. Then halfway through it he let it slip that he only did because he had a bet going on with his friends. That he’d get me to put out on the first date, I mean. The moment I knew I threw back his flowers at him and I left. There, now _I_ said it before you could, are you satisfied?”

Fact is: Jaime is drunk. But he’s not drunk enough to lose coordination.

A small voice tells him _just stay put, this situation is already a bomb ready to explode now_.

Another tells him, _fuck it, there’s a limit to how much of an asshole someone can be_.

A second fact is: Jaime never was the person to listen to his sensible side, when it meant not doing something he somehow had decided was the right thing to do. He did end up enlisting after all, didn’t he?

He stands up and moves behind this Ronnet Connington idiot.

“Hey, asshole.”

“ _What_?”

“That’s no way to be a halfway decent human being. How about you fuck off and leave her be?”

And then – okay, Brienne could have done that herself, if she wanted, but it’s not like Jaime’s _thinking_ about it, so he goes and makes a fist and punches the guy in his fairly ugly mouth, and not even that strongly, but –

“ _Shit_ ,” Connington shouts.

“ _What_ ,” Cersei chokes.

Brienne just _stares_ at him as if she’s not exactly processing what just happened, and – he glances around. The entire room is staring at them, damn it.

He glances at the table – Theon is standing and looking like someone who is just about to faint, Stark is holding up his arm and –

_You know what_ , he thinks, _screw this_.

“You know _what_ ,” he says, “this guy’s an asshole and I’d have told him to fuck off even if I hadn’t been wanting to ask _her_ out for the entire day and I couldn’t because I was pretending to be otherwise engaged.”

“Wait, are we telling everyone now?” Theon asks, and then – “Ah, shit, I blew that for good, didn’t I?”

“Hey, hey, wait a moment,” Robb Stark suddenly says, “you two were _faking_?”

“We had our reasons,” Jaime cuts him, “but yes, we were faking it, and by the way, he’s been slowly killing himself over thinking that you wouldn’t look at him twice now that you knew about our fire escape adventures. Which, by the way, _never happened_. Meanwhile I’ve been killing myself over having been a jerk to her because after two hours I decided I really would have liked to ask her out, and sure as fuck she shouldn’t have wasted her time with you, Connington.”

He’s kind of waiting for the other shoe to drop, but then it happens that Theon looks at Robb, who looks – _ecstatic_?

“Okay, wait a moment here,” Robb asks Theon. “You two were faking it and you’re into _me_?”

Theon laughs without much mirth. “Man, I’ve been into you since I saw your face, but in between fake-dating _him_ and his brother making shit up about him tying me up on fire escapes, which has absolutely not happened but that I entirely wouldn’t be against doing in theory, just not _with him_ , I figured it’d have been enough if we even exchanged numbers –”

“Theon, I’ve been into you since we introduced but I don’t usually put moves on taken people, never mind that – uh, when you say you aren’t against that in theory –”

“I mean that I’d totally let you tie me up to the goddamned fire escape. Hell, I might even agree to make you fucking fried Mars, that’s how much I like you. And I _hate_ fried mars.”

“Guess what,” Robb says, sounding strangely moved, which for this conversation shouldn’t even be an option, “I think we’re on the exact same page,” he blurts, and then –

Then he grabs Theon’s face in between his hands and proceeds to kiss the living daylights out of him, and – Theon kisses back at once, the both of them kind of crashing against Robb’s seat, and they just _go on and keep on fucking kissing_ enough that when they part they’re flushing a shade of red close to Robb’s hair color and they’re looking at each other like they could get dinner-married tomorrow, damn it.

“You know,” Theon says, “I think I need to go to the bathroom.”

“What a coincidence,” Robb blurts back, “I think I’ll go with you.”

_Are they even trying_? Jaime wants to shout, and then they just – wave at everyone and run towards the exit. Oh Christ, that was rich.

At least someone got what they wanted, though, and then he turns and –

He finds himself staring at Brienne, who looks – he doesn’t know what to say, because she’s unreadable right now, but the couple centimeters she has on him are making him feel slightly intimidated.

“What was that about?” She asks, her voice going soft enough that the entire room might not hear them, maybe.

“What do you think it was about? I mean, have you seen them? Because that was about the same outcome I was hoping for.”

“Jaime, _what was that about_? Because I don’t think it’s going to be enough.”

And – fuck, she’s staring at him with those huge, clear, pretty blue eyes that are also promising pain if he’s fucking with her, and –

He’s drunk, it’s late, he has eaten one thing he actually enjoyed this evening and he’s just bloody tired.

“It’s about Greyjoy ripping the hard fruits of my labor – I mean, I fess up about our nice set-up and he has already gone with the guy of his dreams and I’m stuck here explaining it and – fuck’s sake, listen, I’ve been an ass when you first showed up. In my defense, I’m an ass to about everyone when I meet them first, and I regretted that one hour later. I’m fairly sure the last time I met someone and we completed each others’ sentences – scratch it, that was the first time. You’re interesting and I fucking _like_ you and I wasn’t exactly hoping that you’d let me ask you out especially after the way it started, but if you would be amenable then I swear I won’t be half as horrible. And if you don’t want to I’ll live with it, but you still deserve better than this idiot over here. There, this is _what it’s about_.”

For another long moment, no one says a thing.

“Oh, you _mean_ that?” Cersei says from somewhere behind Brienne, not that Jaime can see her.

“Tarth,” Oberyn says then, “I can assure you that he’s been dying to ask you out. I mean, the entire table noticed that. I’m fairly sure his aunt’s table also noticed that. I don’t know how many people here noticed that, but you feel me. He’s not fucking with you, don’t worry.”

“I meant that, by the way,” Jaime sighs, and then Brienne comes closer, almost tripping into her absolutely appalling dress, and she puts a hand on his shoulder.

“Jaime?” She asks.

“Yes?”

“I’m amenable. But no roses, _he_ bought me some.”

“I was thinking more along the lines of tickets for the next Fifes versus Nottingham game, how about that?”

He expects an answer. Instead, her face breaks out into a genuine grin – and seriously, say what you want but she looks _radiant_ – and then her mouth is on his, very tentatively, and –

Fuck this noise.

He kisses her back, uses tongue the moment he realizes she’s amenable to make out in the middle of the room, doesn’t mind people whistling and barely even hears Oberyn telling Sam Tarly that he’s won _something_ and that he should let Oberyn know the details.

“You know,” he tells her when they part, feeling somewhat breathless, “I’m sure we could bring this somewhere else. Possibly outside. Possibly at that diner in the next road over. Maybe we should drag those other two losers so Stark can have his precious fried mars. What do you say?”

“I say that for a first date it’s not so bad, but I still want the tickets for the playoff.”

Jaime smirks openly, holding out his hand. “Well then, shall we?”

She looks at him, then at his hand, then she grins again and wow, it really looks like her mood completely changed at once, didn’t he? And he’s kind of giddy at the idea that it was because of him.

“Sure,” she says, and slips her hand into his.

He doesn’t even look back as he heads for the bathroom and shouts, _Greyjoy, Stark, we’re busting out of this place, let’s go to the damned diner_.

Theon and Robb do rush out of the room with the faces of two people who made out savagely until then, and they look plenty happy with the idea.

Well then, Jaime thinks as they all leave, his fingers still tangled with Brienne’s, he’s going to have to send Cersei and Robert a fruit basket to thank them.

When later, Robb suggests putting figs in it, he decides that it’s a splendid idea and he’s definitely going for it, and he doesn’t even have it in himself to tease those two for the sappy looks they keep on sending each other.

Considering that he’s fairly sure he’s sending Brienne the same kind of sappy looks, he can hardly complain, can he?

 

TBC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a small epilogue is coming later tonight or tomorrow at most :')


	7. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AAAAND WE'RE DONE GUYS I mean I might do an extra with the original wedding livetweet but I realized it'd have taken me another three days and I just wanted to wrap this up, so. XD okay, that's it, I hope you all had a good time with this crack because I surely did, and HOW DID IT GET TO 20K WHAT THE HELL IS MY LIFE. anyway, have some double wedding outsider POV shenanigans and enjoy, hopefully ;)

**Five years later**

 

Fact is: when some five years ago those four came in dressed like they were going to a ball and ordered _fried Mars_ at ten-something in the evening just to let only one of them eat it, Masha Heddle had thought that it was going to be the weirdest thing her diner would ever see in her lifetime.

Sure, it had been massively weird – those four were obviously two couples, but why did they look so _giddy_ , why did they keep laughing every other minute and what was so funny in the text messages they kept on getting throughout the two hours they stayed there? – but then again, they had left her a tip that covered ten times the price of everything they ate and drank, so overall Masha had figured it was a good deal.

Sure as hell she hadn’t expected one of them to call her – it was the one who ate the fried Mars, she remembers him. Jeyne also agreed that he was really cute, though he looked fairly taken with one of the other guys, so it had ended there. Anyway, she certainly hadn’t expected him to call and tell her that _all four of them_ were getting married and wanted to hold the reception in _her diner_.

Masha had asked why. The answer had been _it was where it all started, so, and anyway I have to live up to expectations_. Masha had asked what expectations. He had said, _well, everyone I know expects me to hold my marriage reception in a diner, so. Also, please don’t put on decorations or anything, just let us have the place for one afternoon_.

Considering how much he offered her, Masha had been very quick to say yes and take his food orders.

“Aunt,” Jeyne asks her, “but are you sure they wanted a wedding?”

“That’s what they said,” Masha replies as she cleans the tables all over again – better safe than sorry.

“Who eats fried Mars and pretty much the entirety of our menu along with chocolate-covered figs for their wedding?”

“These people do, apparently, and they also said that they wouldn’t need to be served or anything so just get the darned buffet done so we can earn, I don’t know, _the same as we do in a month_ with an afternoon of doing basically nothing. If they’re weird like that, my bank account’s not going to be complaining. Got it?”

“Nothing to object,” Jeyne agrees with a shrug, and goes back to checking on the food. It’s two PM and they told her people would start coming in sometime around that time, so someone should do that. They also haven’t prepared any special tables or anything on explicit orders, but she made sure to have the place extra clean and Jeyne’s on orders to get the fries ready the moment they start coming in so that at least they’re served warm. They’re as ready as they can be. She goes to the bathroom and checks herself in the mirror quickly – she also put Jeyne on orders to put on some make-up and try to look somewhat decent, they’re still hosting a wedding after all. He sensible make-up has held up since this morning – good. Her sensible green dress has survived cooking – well, she did put on two aprons just in case –, so she’s supposedly good to go.

She comes out just in time to see a few cars parking in front of the diner. The first is fairly huge and – okay, it has to be one of those four’s entire family – it’s about six people. Parents, obviously – he’s tall, with dark hair and grey eyes and a solemn face, she has still bright red hair with a few streaks of white and blue eyes same as her son, obviously. One of the two girls is the split copy of her father, the other girl and the two kids look like their mother and brother, who’s not here yet. There’s also another girl, the same age as the first red-haired one, but they’re obviously not related – this one has plain chestnut eyes and hair, but they’re wearing matching silk gowns. The redhead has a soft lilac one, her friend’s is pale pink. They do look like proper maids of honor, indeed.

While they get a few bags out of the trunk, another three people leave the second car – one is a young man who looks a lot like Robb Stark’s father (except prettier, Jeyne whispers to her, and Masha hisses at her to shut up), dressed in a nice dark suit with a light grey shirt, another is a red-haired girl wearing a stunning burgundy trouser suit, and the third –

“Wait, isn’t that Randyll Tarly’s kid?”

“The one who always came here on afternoons because he’d have rather done his homework in a diner than at his father’s office? Now that you tell me yes, that’s him.”

“Well, it looks like his dad was wrong when he told him he was hopeless and wouldn’t ever find himself a _woman_ that one time he barged in,” Jeyne mutters, and – well, damn, is did those three just kind of roundabout kissed each other?

Masha shrugs – she never was a puritan, anyway. So they’re in a three-way thing or how the hell kids call it these days. Who cares.

They obviously say hi to each other when someone gets off the last car and –

“Isn’t that _Oberyn Martell_? “ Jeyne says, sounding suddenly nervous. “Oh my god, it’s him, I’ve seen him on that talk show the other day, _what is he doing in our diner_ –“

“Attending a wedding reception, obviously,” Masha interrupts her. “And probably waiting for the – the people who just got married, I guess.”

Well, they’re all either shaking hands or hugging or the likes without going in, they must be waiting.

Then another car stops and a middle-aged man with a short beard, dressed a lot less elegantly than the rest, gets a couple of crates from the back before – coming in?

“Masha Heddle, I suppose?” He asks, placing his crates on the next table.

“Uh, yes?”

“Davos Seaworth,” he says, holding out his hand. “We spoke before on the phone, right?”

“Oh, yes, you said you’d – bring the alcohol?”

“There’s some more in the back, yes, but if you’d be so kind to bring these over? I’ll go get the rest.”

Masha shrugs and goes to get the alcohol – Jeyne opens the lid when she puts them on the ground behind the counter.

“Aunt,” Jeyne says, “this is good stuff. Like, really good.”

“He said he was going to mind it, we just have to serve it.”

“Well,” Seaworth says, coming in with another two crates, “it was my wedding present. After all, the best bartender I’ve had at my pub deserved no less.”

“Wait, _who?_ ”

“One of the grooms,” Seaworth says, smiling to himself. “We’ll be in when they get here already. Thank you for helping out with that,” he says, and then goes back out where he – grabs the hand of this stall, very stern guy dressed in rigorous gray who kind of blushes the moment it happens, but doesn’t move away. Another man who has to be at least in his late fifties but who is still fairly tall and well-built, and who is also impeccably dressed, gets out of the same car a moment later.

“If these are the guests I can’t imagine the, you know, actual newlyweds,” Jeyne says.

“Don’t be like that! You haven’t seen them five years ago, they weren’t _that_ weird. If you don’t count eating fried Mars at that time in the evening.”

“If you say so,” Jeyne says, and Masha hears another couple of cars stopping.

“Oh, finally, did you all take your time or what?” Masha doesn’t know who says that. It could possibly be the red haired girl in a threesome.

“Not our fault if Jeyne got lost even if the GPS was on,” someone else – definitely a man – answers.

“I’m never playing taxi driver for any of you ever again, except Robb if he asks nicely,” a female voice replies.

“Guys, how about we stop hogging the sidewalk and get in? Everyone else knows where the place is.”

Masha doesn’t know who said the first sensible thing of the afternoon, but a moment later everyone walks in and –

Well, right, now she remembers all of them very clearly. Robb Stark is dressed in a dark blue suit with a red tie that really looks great on him, if she can say so when he’s one-third her age, but it’s not even overtly pretentious. The cut is amazing though – Jeyne, who has stopped trying to hide that she’s into _UK’s Next Top Model_ , is sending an appreciative look his way and muttering something about well-dressed guys being all taken. And yes, she definitely remembers the guy he’s holding hands with – the one with dark hair who kept on trying to be witty but was so gone over Robb Stark that he couldn’t even do that properly because he kept on just staring and losing track. He looks beyond ecstatic now for that matter. 

The other two, though, are a piece of work. The blonde man looks like the cat who just ate the cream, though she supposes that he’s allowed given that it’s his wedding day. The woman – Masha remembers how five years ago she had looked absolutely constricted in some horrid pink dress that barely even fit her right and how she had kicked her most probably uncomfortable shoes under the table, though she did look fairly happy to be holding hands with him. Now, though – it’s not that she suddenly became any prettier. Her nose still has been broken twice, her lips are really too full for her face and the minimal make-up she’s wearing is basically dark mascara that brings attention to her eyes and just that. But her hair is styled in loose waves that don’t look bad on her at all, and the dress she’s wearing is entirely different. It’s some kind of opaque satin, a shade of blue very close to her eyes’ – the waistline isn’t actually at the waist but just under her breasts, and while she doesn’t have much of a bosom that effect makes it look as if she does. The slightly darker blue silk shawl she’s wearing doesn’t make her shoulders look too large, and it doesn’t seem like she’s going to kick her pretty azure flats under the table. The gentleman that came with Davos Seaworth is looking at her as if he’s really proud – maybe it’s her father. It could definitely be. 

“Well, Tarth,” Oberyn Martell says, “I didn’t have time to tell you at the courthouse, but this dress beats the one you had on five years ago by – I can’t say miles, it doesn’t even cover it.”

“Glad to meet your approval,” she replies, not sounding particularly impressed.

“ _Same_ ,” Robb Stark’s husband – Masha supposes he is? – mutters. “I mean, I didn’t dress most people in this room for nothing, did I.”

“Hey, I told you I’d pay for that dress and you made it for free, you dug your own grave.”

“Lannister, I’m not _that_ desperate.”

“Wait,” Jeyne hisses, “you didn’t tell me _Jaime Lannister_ was having his wedding reception in our diner?!”

“I didn’t know he was Jaime Lannister until now,” Masha sighs, trying not to wonder what happens when his father finds out when the reception was held. “Just proceed as usual. So he’s relatives with Tywin Lannister, who cares. His fast food chain still hasn’t made us sell, did it?”

“Lannister, let him gloat. He _did_ dress most people at this wedding, after all,” the redheaded girl says, obviously trying not to laugh openly. “For one, my suit is amazing. You’re totally making me another when you’re back from your honeymoon.”

“Fine, fine, you win. When do you not, I’m making you another. But I fully intend to enjoy my honeymoon first.”

“I can just imagine how you will spend it,” the girl who was driving the four of them – the other Jeyne, Masha figures –, says then, and everyone in the room starts laughing except for those specific two newlyweds and the guy with the stern face, even if he does sort of maybe half-crack a smile at that. The newlyweds just both blush, but then the door opens again and they’re all saved from that particular conversation.

“Nice. I see that you really went through with the diner, huh? Well, I won’t livetweet this specific wedding, but if you don’t mind I’ll send Cersei a few pictures.”

“Is that _Tyrion Lannister_?” Jeyne whispers to Masha.

“Looks like our business is safe if he doesn’t dislike it,” Masha says.

“Sure,” Jaime Lannister agrees, “actually, please do. Send all the pictures. She’ll regret not having even looked at my invitation. I even sent it along with another fig basket.”

“You really had to, didn’t you?” The bride asks, her fingers wrapped around a nice blue bouquet that Masha hadn’t noticed when she came in.

“You didn’t stop me, did you?” Lannister replies before giving her a fairly long kiss for being in a public place.

Then again, she doesn’t push him away or anything, so Masha figures she’s good with that.

“Wow, is the party already this lively?” 

Uh, that was someone else who came in with Tyrion Lannister – it’s a woman, all dressed in black leather (certainly there wasn’t a dress code for this wedding, Masha decides), who looks like she could be related to the fashion designer groom. Well, they have the same hair and eyes and they’re built similarly, she has to be.

“Asha, just wait until Robb starts eating that fried Mars, then you can say the party is lively.”

“You still agreed to have it made,” Robb Stark tells him, sounding fairly smug about it.

“He’s right, though.” Jaime Lannister really sounds giddy, doesn’t he? “When you started eating that last time we were here, it was a party in itself.”

“That’s your loss if you don’t try it out. Also, says the guy who gave that show with the figs, punching Brienne’s ex in the face and so on – that was a party, not me eating.”

“Hey, that was one of my most dignified moments.”

“I don’t know,” Oberyn Martell says, “the part with the fig –”

“It was _indeed_ a party, and I think we need to be honest – seriously, we pretended to be dating for some eight hours with your brother here mortifying us, we were enough of a party ourselves.”

“Theon, since when are you this self-aware?” Masha thinks that was the guy’s sister – Asha, right?

“He’s been since he realized that being honest means he gets to nail the redhead of his dreams, of course.” Theon openly groans at – god, it has to be Robb Stark’s sister, she’s somewhere in her early twenties and looks like his splitting image if he were female.

“Right, guys, let’s just sit down and get this show started, I don’t think anyone else is coming. Unless Cersei and Robert decide to show up, after all.”

“I hope not,” the stern man says, “I already see enough of my brother without him being here.”

“Stannis, just lighten up, your boyfriend said he has brought excellent drinks,” Tyrion Lannister says, and it doesn’t exactly cheer the man up but half of the room does laugh at that. “And certainly you won’t have to justify yourself like five years ago.”

“Oh, _no_.”

“Hey, that tweet about your strenuous defense of unions when you stuck up for your man still has faves in the hundreds.”

“Oh, _no_.”

“Lannister, leave him be. Did you forget he doesn’t drink?” Seaworth asks, and Masha now wants to know how someone who doesn’t drink is pretty much in love with someone who runs a pub for a living, but she’s not going to ask.

“I might make an exception if this is how this will go,” Stannis sighs before sitting down at one of the tables.

“That’s the spirit,” Tyrion agrees. “So, are we going to eat unhealthy fries until we can’t stand that anymore?”

“Sounds like a plan,” Stark’s youngest sister agrees, and finally they all sit down – the four newlyweds go to the booth they had sat in five years ago, and Masha chooses to decide it’s a coincidence and not the four of them actually remembering it. Stark’s parents, Brienne’s father, Seaworth and the aforementioned Stannis all go to what Tyrion Lannister dubts the _responsible people booth_ , while he, Asha, and Starks’ sisters along with the second maid of honor (who Masha thinks is also called Jeyne – what a coincidence, there’s three of them in a room now) all go into what he dubs the _cool siblings_ booth (Oberyn Martell is apparently an honorary one – Masha doesn’t dare thinking about asking for explanations). The two youngest kids end up in the only larger booth they have with the Jeyne who obviously is friends with Robb Stark and the ‘we are in a threeway, most probably’ crowd.

“All right,” Masha tells her niece, “just go get the fries out and get their orders. Don’t take out the fried Mars just yet.”

“Sure, sergeant,” Jeyne says – she smoothes out her dress, grabs her notebook and goes, and Masha figures she’ll start taking out the alcohol. If someone doesn’t want any before twenty minutes have passed, she hasn’t run a diner for the last thirty years.

She’s right – people do ask for alcohol about fifteen minutes later.

What she hadn’t expected is for Tyrion Lannister to ask Theon if he can just show them what was it about his legendary alcohol-mixing skills that had supposedly were the reason why he and Lannister had a one night stand or something of the kind.

“You’re an asshole,” Theon sighs, “because you know that never happened, but _fine_ , have a demonstration. Ladies, can I have the bar?”

Masha is happy to let him do whatever he likes and to show him where they keep all the not alcoholic drinks, if he wants to put something together for the kids.

“Didn’t you make clothes, though?” Jeyne asks him as she leaves him space behind the counter.

“What can I say,” he answers, smirking. “I might be a man of many talents.”

“Don’t even remind me that now that he graduated I have to find a new bartender,” Seaworth groans.

“Hey, I’m available to come in for special occasions,” Theon replies as he glances at the contents of the crates with approval.

“Good thing that, Gendry’s good but there’s no comparison for now.”

“He has potential, just give him some time. All right, should I just go for it?”

“We trust you,” Jaime Lannister says while he admittedly tries to stuff some fries into his wife’s mouth, oh dear.

“ _Fine_ then, I’m going to blow your mind.”

“As long as you keep to _that_ , I think Robb has dibs on that specific –”

“Jaime, there are kids in this room, just don’t,” Brienne interrupts him, thankfully, and Theon just groans and shakes his head openly before grabbing the first vodka bottle.

“Let’s bet that in ten minutes you won’t be worrying about language,” he says, and then – Masha doesn’t know what the hell he does or what is he even mixing, but she just lets him do that, it’s not as if he’s destroying the bar, and retreats with Jeyne to the kitchen door – it’s an angle that lets them see everything that’s going on.

Ten minutes later, everyone in the room has a drink in front of them, alcoholic or not, Theon is bringing the last couple to their table – for him and Robb, Masha figures, since they’re the only ones without a glass in front of them.

“Right,” Tyrion Lannister proclaims, “let’s try this beauty. It certainly looks good.”

Which is true – most drinks are decorated with fruit pieces. So that was why they asked for fresh fruit to be available. Anyway, Tyrion Lannister takes a drink and lets out a whistle.

“Okay, I take my teasing back. Are you sure this isn’t your true life calling?”

“You’re welcome, and yes, I’m sure. And sorry, I don’t take custom orders.”

“Except for _him_ , don’t you?” Jaime asks, taking a sip from his.

“What, is _that_ custom?” That was Robb’s brother – Jon? Masha thinks his name was Jon. He’s nodding towards the red drink decorated with a few strawberries and a piece of orange that Robb is calmly drinking from.

“It might be,” Theon groans.

“Hey, it was the sweetest first anniversary present I ever got,” Robb replies, beaming and most probably meaning it, giving his expression.

“What is that about?” That was definitely Oberyn.

Theon flushes red as he sips from his own glass. “Let’s say that the anniversary happened when I had just paid off the semester and rent and I was kind of broke. And I had to work. So I told him to come to the pub for the evening. And, er –”

“And he hands that saying that he couldn’t buy me anything but he made that from scratch and Davos was thinking of putting it on the menu. Considering that it’s damn heavenly, I’d say that I didn’t mind at all that you were _kind of broke_.”

“Wait, he _created a drink in your image_.” Jaime Lannister sounds like someone who is momentarily surprised but has just realized he should have expected it.

“I lucked out, didn’t I? Too bad you just had him for half a day.” Robb Stark sounds so giddy he could burst.

“I don’t know,” Jaime replies, “I’m fairly good in my current predicament. Sorry that I can’t make _drinks in your image_ , but I’m confident that I make up for it in other ways, don’t I?”

“Son, _no one_ wants to know in which ways exactly,” Brienne’s father cuts him before drinking from his own glass, too. “That said, this is a damned good drink.”

“Why, thanks for both things. The last thing I need to know are the ways in which Lannister _makes up for it_.”

“I can assure you all none of them implies tying me up to a fire escape,” Brienne quips with all the calm in the world. “Though maybe the contrary might have been achieved a few times. But not on fire escapes, out of everything. Safety is important, didn’t you know that?”

Jaime and Theon groan openly and everyone else over the age of fifteen in the room erupts in laughter.

“Do we want to know what was that about?” Jeyne whispers.

“I think we don’t,” Masha says, shuddering. “And I think it’s just better if we leave them be until they need us. It looks like they’re managing it on their own.”

“I completely agree,” Jeyne says, nodding quickly and hightailing back to the kitchen.

Masha is about to follow her, but she spares a last glance at the room – everyone looks like they’re having fun, the four newlyweds are about all beaming even if those two still look mortified and to be truthful, Masha thinks she’s never been to many receptions as happy as this one, and that has to count for something, doesn’t it?

Sure, it’s still the most bloody weird reception she’s ever seen in her life, but that doesn’t have to be a negative thing. And true, she’d really like to know what’s up with the figs and the infamous fire escape, but maybe in retrospective she really doesn’t need to know.

She goes back to the kitchen and leaves them be – after all, if they’re happy with their weird wedding, that’s the only thing that matters.

 

End.


End file.
